Smoke & Courtesy #2
They walked on for a while; he pointed out the nearer turns of the grounds, and then, to shorten what remained of the afternoon, they turned back to the house to dress for dinner.
“It is absurd,” Elizabeth said, and yet her fingers worried the edge of her glove, “but I have only my mourning. It is fit for quiet mornings and the common duties of the day, not for appearing at Pemberley’s table. I do not wish your sister to think we have made her hospitality an imposition.”
Mr Darcy’s reply was grave, but kind. “Your mourning is the most proper dress you can wear here. My sister will think only that you have done her the honour of accepting what she could offer. If anyone is inclined to be critical, the fault will be theirs, not yours.”
He hesitated a moment. “Go in and be at ease, if you can.”
Dinner was not delayed for ceremony. The bell had scarcely ceased when they were shown in, and the long table, bright with glass and candlelight, made Elizabeth feel again the oddness of being returned, all at once, to the role of guest.
Georgiana took her place with careful composure. Mrs Younge sat near enough to be useful without seeming to watch. Miss Bingley’s smile was perfectly arranged, and Mrs Hurst looked as though she had forgiven the day only because it promised food.
Mr Hurst, when he was seated, sighed like a man to whom even comfort was a burden. “A fine interruption,” he said, taking up his napkin. “One goes out for air and a little sport, and returns to find one is to dine like an invalid.”
“Poor Mr Hurst,” Miss Bingley returned, sweetly. “He has been deprived of every hardship except his own patience.”
“I mean only,” he persisted, glancing towards Mr Darcy, “that there is no pleasure in the country if a man cannot shoot, fish, or at least be left in peace.”
Mr Bingley laughed, and his good humour filled the space where Mr Hurst’s complaints might have settled. “You will survive it, I promise you. Besides, you have been spared the worst of the day.”
“And what is that?” Miss Bingley asked, though her eyes had already gone to Jane with sharp curiosity.
“The temptation to admire,” Mr Bingley replied, without a particle of caution. “I do not believe I have ever seen such a look of calm in the midst of smoke and water. Miss Bennet, you ought to be exhibited as proof that angels do exist.”
Jane coloured, but her smile did not falter. “You are very kind, sir, and very much mistaken. I was only grateful no one was hurt.”
“You see?” he said triumphantly to the table, as though everyone ought to take instruction from it. “That is what I mean. Even her modesty has excellent sense.”
Miss Bingley’s laugh rang out, light and exact. “You are in raptures, brother. One might suppose you had discovered the Indies in a lane.”
“I discovered far better,” Mr Bingley said, and then, as the first course was served, his attention turned with genuine delight to the dish before him.
“This soup is admirable. There is a flavour in it, do you taste it? Something delicate. And these early peas, they are perfect. Pemberley is determined to make us all unfit for common tables.”
Mr Hurst, cheered in spite of himself by a full plate, muttered, “Food is the one sport I never refuse.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on her own portion, and tried not to smile. The day had been too sharp for easy amusement, and yet it was a relief to hear ordinary absurdity again, to have the world insist, through soup and silver and Mr Hurst’s appetite, that disaster did not have the last word.
Across the table Mr Darcy spoke little. When he did, it was to answer Georgiana, or to give some quiet direction that made everything run more smoothly, order appearing less a performance than a habit he could lend without comment.
Mr Hurst had only just finished declaring the second course “the first sensible improvement upon the day,” when Mr Darcy, at Georgiana’s low question, lifted his eyes from his plate.
“They have been at the cottage,” he said, speaking of it as the next natural point of conversation. “The sweep believes the flue narrowed with soot more quickly than it ought, which suggests it has not drawn properly for some time. There is no fault in the timbers.”
Elizabeth’s fork paused, though she did not look up at once.
“It may be the lining,” Mr Darcy continued, calm and exact. “Or a partial obstruction higher up. They will know more when it is fully examined. For the present, it has been cleared, and it will not be used again until it is made entirely safe.”
Mr Bingley leaned forward. “So there is no danger of it rekindling?”
“None,” Mr Darcy replied. “The hearth is cold. What remains is inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience,” Mr Hurst repeated, personally affronted by the word. “A charming name for chaos.”
Miss Bingley’s smile returned, but not quite to her eyes. “And the rooms?”
“The lower rooms must be dried,” Mr Darcy said. “The smoke has settled most in the passage and parlour. With windows open and proper cleaning, it will pass. But it will be a few days before everything is put to rights, and Mr Harding means to make sure the chimney is properly fixed.”
Elizabeth’s gaze lifted then, meeting his for the briefest moment. There was no triumph in his expression, only that steady certainty which made the world seem less likely to fall apart again.
Jane said softly, “Thank you.”