Elizabeth held her breath and scooted to the back corner, wondering how she would escape unseen. She couldn’t open the carriage house doors. They were too large to be opened unnoticed and she had never opened one, either. It was hardly something she could do quickly and under duress. Just when she was thinking she would have to hide there for hours until the men left again, she noticed a sliver of light far to her right. A door!
She crept quietly to it and saw there were several empty crates stacked in front of it. It was clearly not used often. She hoped it still opened; she examined it closely and saw it wasn’t boarded up and the lock wasn’t rusted through. She began moving the crates one by one, grateful they were small enough for her to lift, though her arms were burning by the third one. She was on the fourth and final crate when she heard a voice—a dangerously close voice. She set the crate down as quietly as she could as the voice moved closer and closer, and she prayed harder than she ever had that the door would open easily and quietly. She turned the key in the lock and cringed at the squeaking sound it made, but rejoiced that it turned at all. She looked over her shoulder in time to see a man’s shadow thrown across the doorway; he paused to yell something back into the stables. She opened the creaking door just enough to squeeze through, then closed it swiftly behind her. It had not been silent, but it hadn’t been loud either, and she hoped the man thought it was the horses and other grooms and not an intruder.
If they found the damaged axles too soon, they would have them repaired before the party left on Thursday, perhaps Friday. She would have only delayed them by a day, maybe only a few hours, and all this subterfuge and terror would have been for nothing.
Elizabeth dashed into the trees behind the stables, moving as swiftly and quietly as she could. Once she gained the cover of the forest, she ran along the familiar path as fast as her legs could take her. She was nearing Longbourn when she stopped to catch her breath. Her lungs and legs were burning, her eyes wild and her heart nearly beating out of her chest.
She had just snuck onto someone else’s property and willfully damaged his carriage. She. Elizabeth Bennet! It was so very unladylike, and so very disturbing, that she could not prevent nervous laughter from escaping her throat as she tugged off the old bonnet and her sister’s worn dress. She slipped back into her own gown and splashed cold water onto her face and neck from an obliging stream. It chilled her as it ran down her breastbone, but calmed her breathing and her nerves. She welcomed it with relief.
She snuck back into Longbourn and up the back stairs, unseen by everyone but Sarah, who was well familiar with her outdoor habits. The maid winked and offered to bring hot water up as soon as it was ready. Elizabeth could only thank her and collapse on the bed, her nerves utterly shattered.
Chapter 4
A New Tactic
Elizabeth’s devastation at waking up to yet another Tuesday knew no bounds. She cried in her bed for nearly an hour, then uncharacteristically took Nelly out for a ride. She had a need to go further than her own feet could take her. She vaguely wondered if riding far enough away would do any good, but she had a very strong feeling it would not. By the time she returned to Longbourn, her mother was looking for her and Jane informed her that she had held her off as long as possible.
Elizabeth apologized and gave an excuse, then prepared for the ball. She thought over her situation while Sarah was brushing and pinning her hair. She had been so sure the key to ending this madness was keeping the Netherfield party in Meryton. She again reviewed the first day of the ball and the two following it, the “original days,” as she had come to think of them. Time had begun repeating itself the day the Netherfield party left. Surely that was significant?
But she had done everything in her power to keep them here and none of it had worked. She had tried to delay Caroline by more than one tactic and had not been successful. Mr. Darcy had agreed to stay on through the end of the week to meet with her father, and she thought he was the kind of man who would not agree to something he did not truly want to do, but that had not worked either. She had delayed Mr. Bingley himself, secured promises to return from the same gentleman, and sabotaged the ability to leave of the entire party.
But had she truly? She realized with a sinking heart that Mr. Bingley might have chosen to go to London on horseback. And if he did, when the remaining party decided to leave, they would discover the damaged carriages, have them repaired, and be on their way. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst might even go ahead on horseback, though she would be shocked to see Mr. Hurst doing anything so active as riding.
She realized with a heavy heart that unless she somehow made lame every horse in the stable, which she did not have the slightest desire nor ability to do, she would not be able to keep the men here. And were they not the principal characters in the drama she was trapped in? Mr. Bingley was the one she most wanted to detain, and Miss Bingley would go wherever Mr. Darcy led. Perhaps keeping the Netherfield party in Hertfordshire for more than a few days was impossible. And if it was so, she was wasting her time and energy on a fruitless pursuit.
Feeling utterly hopeless, she climbed into the carriage with her family for yet another Netherfield Ball.
“Do you believe in premonitions, Mr. Darcy?” she asked as they danced together. She had grown tired of being silent and though he was an aloof man, he was intelligent and her best chance for stimulating conversation.
“In what sort of situation?” he asked, his surprise at her question evident.
“Any sort of situation!” she cried. “You either believe it to be possible or you do not. The belief does not change with the surroundings.”
He looked thoughtful and stared above her, perhaps at nothing, and they were silent for several movements. Finally, he spoke. “I must say that I do, Miss Elizabeth.”
She could not help the look of shock that leapt onto her countenance.
“I see I have surprised you,” he said with a small smile.
“Yes, I will admit that you have. I would not have thought you the sort of man who would believe in such a thing.”
He tilted his head slightly and gazed at her as they circled each other.
“Perhaps I should not be astonished,” she said, unnerved by his lack of response and his unwavering gaze. “I do not know you well.” She surprised herself slightly with the last statement. It was true, she supposed. She knew the sort of man he was, but she did not know him personally, as such.
“I cannot argue with that,” he said with a nod. The dance brought their hands together and he spoke quietly. “I have personally experienced a sense of danger, a foreboding, if you will, and it has stood me in good stead these many years, as well as those I hold dear.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” she asked curiously.
His jaw clenched and his posture stiffened, but he finally said quietly, “Once, when I was a boy, I was riding at Pemberley with my cousin. He is a few years my senior and we knew the landscape well. We had every reason to believe we were safe.” The dance separated them again and he continued when they came together, his arm extended as she trailed under it. “We were riding up a hill and I signaled to him that we should veer right, away from the crest of the hill. He did not understand why I changed directions, and to be honest I could not say either. I just felt very strongly that I should go another way.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Two things, really. We rode along a stream and were of some help to a tenant child who had gotten himself too high in a tree. But when we returned to the house, we were told that an old well had caved in on the southern end of the estate. Having just come from that area, we asked where it was exactly.”
“Was it on the other side of the hill you did not ride over?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes, it was. I rode out and saw it the next day. It was a deep hole and the land around it had sunk as well. It would have been directly in our path had we charged over the hill as we were planning to do.”
“So you had
a lucky escape,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yes, we certainly did.”
“And the tenant child was likely grateful for your assistance as well.” She smiled and tripped about him in a circle.
“I suppose he was, though my valet was not happy that I had ruined perfectly good breeches with climbing trees.”
She laughed and he blushed slightly. She imagined the fastidious Mr. Darcy rarely told such personal information to barely tolerable ladies of his acquaintance. But she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him. He had given her much to think on.
She contemplated Mr. Darcy’s tale the remainder of the evening. Did she normally have such intuition herself? She had always thought herself a great judge of character, but that was hardly a premonition or anything more than observation skills. For example, she reasoned, she knew Mr. Darcy was taciturn and difficult because he refused to speak in company and called her tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him for something as simple as a dance. And he had scared away Mr. Wickham.
She paused at that thought. She heard Mr. Wickham’s voice in her head, so many days ago now, telling her it was for Darcy to avoid him if he did not want to be in company with his old friend. He was going to attend the ball and dance every dance—he was not afraid of Mr. Darcy, no matter how rich and tall he was. But Mr. Wickham had not attended, had he? She knew the ball better than anyone now, and she knew every officer was present except for Mr. Wickham. He had gone to London on business for his superiors. He had asked for the assignment. He had wanted to avoid Mr. Darcy.
How odd, she thought suddenly. The ball was well attended and in a large home. It would have been easy for Mr. Wickham to evade Mr. Darcy there had he not wanted to cause a scene or have an awkward encounter. Why say he would go when he would not?
For that matter, why was no one doing as they said they would do? Miss Bingley pretended friendship to Jane, then snuck away with her entire party without taking leave of the neighborhood. Mr. Wickham said he would not avoid Darcy, but avoid him he had. Mr. Darcy insulted her and stared at her, then asked her to dance! Mr. Bingley acted as if he loved Jane, but Elizabeth was certain that he would not return, for why would it be so important for her to keep the party from leaving if he intended to come back in a week?
Even time was not behaving as it always had! Her life had become a farce of immense proportions and she wished nothing more than to return to her usual existence.
~
The next ball, during her fourth set, the one she always danced with Mr. Darcy, she asked him again about premonitions, hoping he would tell her something he hadn’t the night before.
“Once, someone close to me nearly made a very foolish mistake. Luckily, I had a feeling that I was needed. I arrived in time to stop anything irreversible from happening.”
“That is very cryptic of you, Mr. Darcy,” she teased, wanting to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere.
He said nothing else and they completed the dance in near silence.
~
Elizabeth awoke to Tuesday again, having run out of ideas for the moment. She was beginning to become inured to it and decided to enjoy herself today—she could make a new plan tomorrow—or today again, as it were. She went for a stroll in the dormant gardens, stopping to admire a late-blooming dahlia that was holding out desperately against the chill in the air. She took her father tea in his bookroom and went to the music room to practice the pianoforte. She generally only practiced an hour or two a week, but with all her time lately spent preparing for the ball, she found that she missed the instrument. She remained there for nearly two hours until her mother insisted she begin her preparations.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said cheerfully when he approached her at Netherfield.
Charlotte looked at her in surprise and Mr. Darcy seemed somewhat taken aback himself. Elizabeth continued to smile and await his request. She had danced with him several times now, and he was much preferable to her cousin and most of the officers, even if his conversation was somewhat lacking—though she could admit he had been slightly more interesting lately. And he was clean and smelled nice, which could not be said of all the gentlemen present.
She smiled over her shoulder to Charlotte as he led her to the floor and stifled a laugh at her friend’s expression. The set had two dances; the first was a lively, invigorating piece and the second was more sedate and suited to conversation. Darcy was an excellent partner—always where he was supposed to be, in perfect time to the music, never leering down her gown. She went through the dance in good cheer and couldn’t keep the smile from her face at the sheer absurdity of it. That Mr. Darcy should be her preferred partner! And all because he had a wonderful sense of rhythm and kept his eyes above her neck. It really was impossible not to smile. He seemed affected by her frivolity and smiled at her in return, his eyes shining with a strange light.
They made a few comments in passing in the first dance, and just before it ended, Elizabeth asked him if he believed in premonitions, or intuition.
“Do you, Miss Bennet?”
Oh, this was new!
She quirked a brow. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Darcy, I do.”
He nodded his deference and she thought quickly on how to prove her assertion. “Sir William is headed this way. I predict he will cross the middle of the floor, stop us in the dance, and comment on how much he enjoys seeing us partake in the activity.”
“I do not know how intuitive such a prediction is, Miss Bennet,” replied Darcy. “That sounds very much like something Sir William would say. Mayhap you are only utilizing your cleverness and not any higher powers.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I do not know what I am more astonished by: that you think me clever, or that we are having such a pleasant conversation without arguing.”
He studied her for a moment, then said, “You are the cleverest woman of my acquaintance, Miss Bennet.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair and could do nothing but stare dumbly at him.
Sir William then stopped and spoke almost exactly as she had predicted. Recovering from what she thought might be the greatest compliment anyone had ever given her, she drew her attention to the conversation. She gave Darcy pointed looks throughout and his expression remained neutral, though she thought she saw humor in his eyes. She jumped in before Sir William could mention Jane or Mr. Bingley—every time her neighbor had mentioned them before, Darcy’s expression had darkened, and she had no desire to end such a pleasant dance with animosity.
When Sir William left, she gave Darcy a smug expression and he looked at her and shook his head. She was sure he would have rolled his eyes if such behavior wasn’t beneath him.
~
Elizabeth awoke less cheerful the next day, knowing she had no great plan to return herself to normalcy. She did think about it as she was playing the instrument and checking her mulberry wine in the stillroom. Alas, the stillroom was bereft of inspiration and she returned to the house in depressed spirits.
She decided to try a new hairstyle and caught the maid before she could work on any of her sisters. She was likely successful because the ball was still five hours away. Her hair had always held a style remarkably long, and she wasn’t doing anything so vigorous it would ruin it before the ball.
She tried to look on her situation with equanimity. If she was doomed to replay the same day over and over, there were worse days than a ball surrounded by friends. If only Lydia would be less mortifying. And her mother less voluble. And Mary less determined to exhibit her poor musical skills.
Elizabeth went to her sister’s room, an idea suddenly springing to her mind.
“Mary, are you ready for the evening?” she asked.
Her sister looked surprised to see her there and Elizabeth tried to put her at ease. Eventually she asked Mary if she planned to play. Mary said she did and before she could name the piece she had chosen—and played badly every night of the ball—Elizabeth leapt in.
“I
wish you would play this one. You play it so well, and it has always been a favorite of mine. It would give me great joy to hear you play it tonight.” She passed the sheet music to Mary.
Mary didn’t quite know what to say and thanked her sister. Elizabeth could only hope she had achieved at least one of her goals and set out to speak to her father about Kitty and Lydia.
“Do you really think they are prepared for such a ball?” she asked Mr. Bennet from her perch on the worn chair in front of his desk.
“There will be no peace in this house if they do not go,” he said wearily.
“Yes, but we will not be here to hear their lamentations,” she said.
He smiled. “Your logic is sound, but they will complain for weeks and so will your mother, and I do not wish to hear it. It is only a neighborhood ball.”
Elizabeth felt herself growing frustrated and losing hold of her earlier sanguinity. “Papa, if you do not take the trouble to check them, they will become the most determined flirts to ever make themselves or their family ridiculous. At least keep Lydia home! She is but fifteen!”
She could see by his countenance that he would not yield, but she had one further thing to add.
“We must think of Jane. She cares deeply for Mr. Bingley, and I believe he cares for her, as does anyone who has ever seen them together. But what prudent man would wish to marry into a foolish family when there is a very high likelihood that those fools will one day call his home their own?”
Mr. Bennet understood the implied insult—he had not prepared his daughters well for his death, and he had not raised them to be proper ladies either.
“Forgive me, Father, but I must speak plainly. Jane’s happiness may depend on it. Mr. Bingley is not a forceful man and he has the responsibility of his sister. She does not want him to marry Jane, that much is clear.”
He raised his brows at this. “What makes you say that? And why should Mr. Bingley listen to his sister?”
The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions Page 3