“Miss Bingley’s disdain is obvious, especially when she is not in larger company, and her fate is tied to her brother’s, as they both know. He will consider her in whatever decision he makes. We do not have large dowries or grand connections. Must the family make it more difficult for Jane than it is already? Does she not have enough obstacles to overcome with no resources but her beauty and her kindness?”
Mr. Bennet seemed taken aback, and Elizabeth knew she had said far more than her father had ever thought to hear from a daughter, or from anyone. To be called to the carpet by one’s own child! Elizabeth felt shame run through her, but she could not forget Jane’s face when Miss Bingley’s letter arrived informing them of the party’s departure and unlikely return. For her sister, she would do what was required.
“Wherever you or Jane are known you will be valued. And any callow youth that will be run off by a little silliness is not worth the trouble of worrying over,” said Mr. Bennet, interpreting her upset as needless worry over her own prospects.
“But it is not just a little silliness! It is humiliation, pure and distilled and displayed for public consumption.”
Elizabeth felt tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. He would not see! Nothing she said would make him see.
“Forgive me, Father,” she whispered and rushed from the room.
She cried in her bed for some time until she gave herself a headache. Deciding she did not care either way, she told the maid she would not go the ball as she was ill. She took a sleeping powder and was nearly asleep when her mother bustled in. Seeing Elizabeth’s red-rimmed eyes, pink nose, and puffy cheeks, she decided it was better if she stayed home than ruin the family’s collective looks. Elizabeth could only nod weakly and curl under her blanket. She didn’t even hear her father when he stepped into her room in the early hours of the morning after the ball and knelt by the bed, saying, “You are right, Lizzy. I shall try to do better.”
Little did he know he would not get the chance.
Chapter 5
A Fortunate Mishap
If the conversation with her father had taught her anything, it was that people are unalterable. They are who they are and they will behave as themselves, no matter how much we might wish them to do otherwise.
With that thought in mind, Elizabeth rushed up the stairs after breaking her fast just as Lydia was sleepily coming down. She ran headlong into her sister and Lydia stumbled and fell the last four steps, landing in a heap at the bottom.
“Lizzy! You ran into me!” cried Lydia loudly.
“I am so sorry, Lyddie. Let me help you up.”
Elizabeth squatted near her sister and wrapped an arm around her, helping her to stand. Lydia winced as she put weight on her foot and leaned heavily on Elizabeth.
“Oh, no!” cried Lydia.
Her wails brought the household running and soon they had helped her to a sofa in the drawing room.
“Oh, my poor child! What happened? How could you do such a thing? And on the day of the ball! What are we to do!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet.
Jane was attempting to soothe both her mother and her youngest sister, while Elizabeth placed a cushion under Lydia’s ankle. Lydia continued to whine about the pain, and how clumsy Elizabeth was, and how very unfair this entire day was turning out, even though it was only mid-morning.
Mrs. Bennet eventually stopped wailing and sent a servant to fetch the apothecary. Jane brought Lydia tea and they waited in suspense for Mr. Jones. He finally arrived and examined the now swollen ankle, pronounced it very badly sprained, and told her to stay off it and keep it elevated for several days.
“Several days! But the ball is tonight! Surely there is something that can be done!” Mrs. Bennet cried.
Lydia began to wail again and Mr. Jones sought out Mr. Bennet in his bookroom to inform him of the diagnosis.
The house remained in an uproar for some time until Mrs. Bennet was persuaded to bed by Jane and tended by Hill. Lydia was terribly cross and put out and determined to go to the ball regardless.
“Just think, Lyddie, if you are not there, all the officers will ask after you, and everyone will wonder where you are. If we tell them you are injured, they shall call on you to see if you are better. You will be the topic of everyone’s conversation,” cajoled Elizabeth.
Lydia looked thoughtful at her sister’s suggestion. “There would be a great many callers in a few days,” she said slowly.
“Yes, I’m sure they will be very concerned for you,” said Elizabeth. It was manipulative and beneath her, but she did not care. If she saw Lydia running through the ball with an officer’s saber above her head one more time, she would scream.
“Very well, I shall remain here. But you must tell everyone that it was your fault! I’ll not have all the officers thinking I’m clumsy because you run about like a spring colt.”
Elizabeth merely smiled and agreed.
Mrs. Bennet stayed in her bed for half an hour until she remembered there was a ball to prepare for; then she dispelled as much energy ordering her daughters and servants about as she had bemoaning her youngest’s fate.
Elizabeth had no idea if her fledgling plan would work, but she thought working her way through the wrongs perpetrated those fateful days might yield some positive results. Lydia humiliating their family more times than she could count certainly merited a great wrong in her eyes. She again went to her sister Mary and asked her to play an easier and more cheerful song that evening. It may not bear fruit, but she had made the effort.
She was at a loss on what to do to quiet her mother. Mrs. Bennet was a force to be reckoned with, and once she got an idea in her head, it was impossible to remove it. Elizabeth wondered if it would be better to try to distract others from noticing her instead of trying to curb her mother’s behavior. Then, just as she was ready to give up, an idea formed in her mind. It was devious, and foolish, and so very wrong, but as soon as it presented itself, she knew she would pursue it. It was too seductive not to.
After the afternoon meal, Mrs. Bennet said she would rest a quarter hour before dressing for the ball. Elizabeth brought her a cup of tea, and when Hill reported that the mistress was so deeply asleep she could not wake her, Elizabeth looked at her innocently and said to let her mother sleep, for the day had been exciting, and she would surely rouse in time to leave.
She did not.
Mr. Bennet looked in on his wife himself, declared her exhausted and sleeping soundly, and led his daughters to the carriage. Elizabeth couldn’t help the tiny smile of triumph that stole onto her face for a moment as they pulled away from Longbourn, sans Lydia and Mrs. Bennet, but any who saw it made no comment, though she noticed her father did look at her with a glint of suspicion in his eye. She smiled sweetly at him and knew his indolent nature would keep him from pursuing it.
Elizabeth enjoyed the ball immensely. She danced with her neighbors and friends, the officers, and both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. She laughed and smiled so much it bordered on flirtation, but as she did such with men and women alike, no one could claim she meant anything by it and knew it was merely her way.
How wonderful it was to attend a ball without the constant mortification of a vulgar mother and a wild sister! Mary played the song Elizabeth suggested and received sincere applause when she finished. Kitty was significantly more quiet without Lydia to follow, and instead stayed near and imitated the Long girls, whom she had been friends with before Lydia came out and declared them unlikeable, likely for being more elegant than herself, though Lydia never admitted that was the cause.
Relief was Elizabeth’s primary emotion when their carriage was not the last one to be called. They stood in the entryway, waiting for the footman to open the door, something like contentment settling about her like a warm blanket. Jane looked tired but happy where she spoke to Mr. Bingley in the corner, Mary had a peaceful expression on her face instead of her habitual frown, and even her father seemed pleased with the evening. Kitty had been invited to tea with the
Longs, alone, in two days’ time, and Elizabeth was hopeful that her family might not be beyond redemption—so long as her mother and Lydia were removed.
“Good night, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, suddenly before her.
“Good night, Mr. Darcy. It has been a pleasant evening. I trust you enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes, it was most pleasant.”
“You needn’t look so surprised, Mr. Darcy,” she teased. He was in great need of teasing—he was entirely too serious.
“I assure you, I am only tired.” Before she knew what had happened, he had led her out the newly opened door and to the carriage where he handed her in after Jane, holding her hand a moment longer than necessary. “Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly. It was odd, but there was a note of finality in his voice that would keep her up half the night.
~
Did he know he would leave? Had he known all along? Is that why he had looked at her so consciously? Elizabeth could only conclude that Mr. Darcy may not have planned to leave with Mr. Bingley directly following the ball, but he did plan to leave soon.
She vaguely wondered if that was why he danced with her and spoke so pleasantly to her—he knew he was not coming back and it was his odd way of saying goodbye. She thought on it for a moment, then dismissed it as ridiculous. It was entirely too romantic a notion for Mr. Darcy to entertain, and besides, even if he was the sort of man to wish to carry the memory of a dance with a lady when he knew he was unlikely to see her again, she would never be the lady. He disliked her! He looked at her to find fault! He was constantly arguing with her and insulting her. He ignored her friends and disdained her home. He looked down on her family, though she could admit it was more loyalty than justice that angered her on that front.
Having worked herself up into a good righteous anger, Elizabeth prepared for the ball again. She had stopped her family from humiliating themselves the night before but it hadn’t done any good. She had woken up peevish and fitful. She was angry at the world, at God, at whoever was responsible for placing her in this mess. She was angry at her mother for being loud and embarrassing, at Lydia for being wild and at Kitty for being easily led. She was mad at her father for doing nothing about it, and at herself for being angry over it and caring at all. She was angry at Mr. Darcy more than anyone, for if he knew all along he was going to leave Netherfield and not return, why was she trying to stop them from going? What could she do? If he was determined to leave, Caroline Bingley would follow him, and she was increasingly certain that Mr. Bingley would not be able to stand up to the collective persuasion of his sisters and his imposing friend. He had admitted himself that Mr. Darcy often got the better of him in debates and decisions, and she just knew, deep down somewhere inexplainable, that Darcy would carry the day.
All her efforts were for naught. She was doomed!
It was with these thoughts swirling about her mind that Elizabeth entered the Netherfield Ball that evening. Mr. Darcy asked her for the fourth set as he usually did, and she would have refused him had she not already promised the following dance to Lt. Chamberlain. He smelled vaguely of onions, but he did not deserve to be so unceremoniously left in the lurch.
It was with some pique that she asked him if he believed in premonitions, almost daring him to argue with her.
He was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I believe they do exist,” he said quietly.
“Do you have personal experience with them?” she asked, being careful to not phrase her words as she had previously in hopes of receiving a different answer.
He looked at her sharply, as if she had just said something outrageous, and replied slowly, “Yes. I have.”
The dance separated them then and by the time she had returned to him, so had his usual composure. She looked at him expectantly.
“When my father was training me to manage the estate, we had cause to speak with a brewer who was interested in purchasing grain from Pemberley. He was an affable man, and all our interactions with him had been satisfactory.”
Elizabeth danced away and felt her face redden. He was going to tell her that the tradesman was a cheat, and that he, a gentleman, had spotted it. She was on the verge of making a sharp comment when Sir William interrupted them and exclaimed over their dancing and what joy he received from watching them.
“Then we should return to it immediately,” Elizabeth interrupted before he could comment on Jane and Bingley. She must remember to position them lower in the dance if she wished to avoid him at future balls. He was one character who never changed even slightly. Not one word was different from the first time she heard them.
Darcy seemed surprised at her remark, but Sir William simply smiled and bustled off, chattering as he went.
“You were saying, Mr. Darcy?” she prompted, more out of a desire to vindicate her assumptions about him than to actually hear his tale.
“Yes, the brewer. Well, as we were approaching the conclusion of our negotiations, my father asked me what I thought of the endeavor. I told him that the brewer was amiable and I knew no wrong of him, but something did not seem quite right. My father encouraged me not to ignore such an instinct and the next day I rode out early to the brewery to see the operation for myself.
“It was several hours away and I arrived midday. I saw some children outside finishing a meagre meal and asked them what they were doing there. They seemed skittish and unwilling to talk, so I dismounted and followed them in.”
Elizabeth hated to admit it, but she acutely wanted to know what Mr. Darcy had seen in the brewery. Suddenly, she remembered him saying she was the cleverest woman of his acquaintance. It was a terribly inconvenient time to remember such a nice compliment. It almost made her like him, and it was so difficult to be properly angry with those whom one truly liked.
“Go on,” she said encouragingly.
He nodded and continued in a low voice. “The conditions were deplorable. It was dark and filthy, and the workers, down to the last, appeared exhausted and defeated. To my great horror, I saw children, some as young as five, and women who were obviously undernourished. There were things I cannot speak of to a lady, but I will say that there is a mill at Pemberley, and I have visited other such establishments in the past, and nothing prepared me for what I would see that day. The deprivations…” he trailed off and they continued to dance to the lilting music.
Elizabeth was glad it was a slower dance so that she might better hear him. He seemed troubled, so she squeezed his hand when next theirs met. His eyes shot to hers in surprise, and she gave him a small smile of understanding, and hopefully comfort. All her ire had left, so quickly it was as if it had never been, and she was dancing once again with the man who never tread upon her toes or looked down her gown.
“What did you do after your visit?” she asked when his brow had cleared.
“My father sent the magistrate and the more deplorable of his actions were punished by law. Most were not illegal, however, merely cruel. I should have expected no less from a friend of Wickham’s.”
He said the last so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. The dance ended and he began to escort her from the floor.
“Forgive me, but I did not hear you properly. You said you should expect no less from whom?”
They were making their way through the crowd toward Elizabeth’s mother. She quickly tugged him in another direction, and soon they had gained what little privacy could be had in a ballroom.
He looked at her warily and she looked back, expecting an answer. He seemed reluctant to speak, and he looked away then back at her, and away again.
“Mr. Darcy, did you say this man was a friend of Mr. Wickham’s?”
He sighed. “Yes, Miss Bennet, though I probably should not have.”
Recklessly, Elizabeth decided she must know all. When would she have another opportunity? And Mr. Darcy would never remember that she had been impertinent and nosy. It was an ideal situation, really.
“What is the nature of yo
ur dislike of Mr. Wickham?” she asked boldly.
“It is a private matter, Miss Bennet. I bid you good evening.” He bowed stiffly and turned on his heel, leaving the ballroom entirely.
She stood staring after him with a shocked expression on her face. Miss Bingley looked her way and smirked, but Elizabeth ignored her. Mr. Darcy did not return to the ball at all that night, and she knew, with a surety she could not describe, that whatever had happened between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham had been much worse than a disagreement over a living.
Chapter 6
A New Day
As Elizabeth was climbing into the carriage, she thought of something she had yet to try. Every time this happened, she awoke to the following day. Would it be possible to break the mechanism by not going to sleep? She determined to remain awake until the following evening to see what that would accomplish.
Everyone went to bed when they returned to Longbourn, but Elizabeth went to her father’s bookroom and selected a book. Then she settled into a chair by the fire and lit a lamp. She read until the sun was bright and went upstairs to prepare for the day. She was dreadfully tired, but she would not give up.
She took her seat in the breakfast parlor and was pleased to notice her family trail in with bleary eyes. Her mother was in no shape to be seen, so she ordered a tray in her room. Lydia and Kitty were discussing the officers they had danced with the night before.
It worked! She did it! It was not Tuesday, but Wednesday. Blessed, wonderful day!
She had a moment of disquiet when she thought of her conversation with Mr. Darcy last night and wondered briefly what he thought of her in the wake of her boldness, but she was too relieved with her success to bother worrying about that. She was walking in the gardens, basking in the joy that was Wednesday, when she realized she still had a problem. The Netherfield party would leave the next day. Jane would be heartbroken.
Perhaps Mr. Bingley would return? She had truly believed he would when she first saw Caroline’s letter and heard Jane’s excuses for her. But now, after having attended numerous balls where she observed the behavior of the Bingley family and their friend, she could not say that she believed Mr. Bingley would return. In fact, she would be very surprised if he did. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had made their disdain abundantly clear. Mr. Hurst was a fashionable man and lazy besides. He would not want anyone unfashionable in the family, or anything that would require effort from him, like standing up to those who would decry Bingley’s choice.
The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions Page 4