Chapter 10 #3
“Let us say they were… energetic. Staying in tune seemed to be rather an object of hope than of attainment.”
Mary’s eyes met Georgiana’s over the music-strewn table. “Then it is well we kept our own concert at home,” she said gently. “You and I have not wanted for entertainment here.”
Georgiana’s hand rested for a moment on Mary’s sleeve. “I have been quite happy here to-night,” she said in a low voice.
The General
The drawing room was, for once, remarkably quiet.
Elizabeth held a book, though she had ceased reading some minutes ago. The scene unfolding by the fireplace demanded her full attention. On the sofa sat Georgiana Darcy, winding a skein of wool. Opposite her sat Mrs. Annesley, placid as a summer pond.
Lydia paced the rug like a caged creature.
“Lord, it is as dull as a church in here!” Lydia cried, throwing up her arms. “Kitty, why are you so slow? I told you to fetch the cards ten minutes ago!”
Mrs. Annesley dropped her needlework. She did not scowl. She did not scold. She pressed a hand to her breast, her eyes widening.
“My dear Miss Lydia,” she said faintly, “You cry out as if some great disaster had occurred. What is it?”
Lydia stopped mid-stride. “What?”
Mrs. Annesley leant forward. “You cried out with such alarm. Is the chimney smoking? Has someone been injured? Pray tell us at once, that we may ring the bell!”
“No,” Lydia said, her volume dropping from sheer confusion. “I just… I want the cards.”
Mrs. Annesley sank back into her chair, releasing a long, trembling breath.
She fanned herself with a handkerchief. “Oh, thank heavens. For a moment, I feared the house was ablaze. You see, in London, young ladies only raise their voices to such a pitch when there is a true calamity. I was quite frightened.”
Lydia glanced about the room. Georgiana returned her gaze with wide, innocent eyes.
“I was not screaming,” Lydia muttered, though uncertainty had crept into her voice.
“Of course not,” Mrs. Annesley agreed warmly. “It must have been a momentary fit of nerves. Perhaps you should sit. Violent gesticulation is often a sign of impending fever. I once knew a young lady who was prone to such outbursts before she swooned.”
“I shall not swoon!” Lydia snapped, throwing herself into a chair. She slouched down, her legs stretched out before her, ankles crossed.
Mrs. Annesley paused. She tilted her head, studying Lydia’s sprawled posture.
“Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Annesley said to Jane, her voice filled with gentle concern, “I believe we must send for the apothecary after all. Miss Lydia’s spine appears to have given way.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. “I believe she is merely resting, Mrs. Annesley.”
“Resting?” Mrs. Annesley’s gaze moved from Lydia’s slouch to Georgiana’s upright, elegant posture.
“In a drawing room? With her ankles exposed? Oh no, Miss Elizabeth. Surely not. That is the posture of someone in the last stages of exhaustion. She cannot support her own frame. We must fetch a litter at once.”
Lydia sat bolt upright. She pulled in her legs and straightened her back with an audible snap.
“I am perfectly well,” Lydia said through clenched teeth. “I was simply sitting.”
“Ah—sitting.” Mrs. Annesley’s face cleared into a smile of relief. “I see now. It must be the fashion in Hertfordshire, then, to sit as if one’s bones have dissolved. How charming. In Town, of course, a lady sits as Miss Darcy does, but I suppose country habits differ.”
Lydia’s eyes darted to Georgiana. Georgiana’s posture was effortlessly graceful. Lydia stiffened her spine until it was rigid as a fire-iron.
“I can sit properly,” Lydia said defensively.
“Can you? How clever!” Mrs. Annesley beamed. “It is quite difficult, I am told, for those not trained from the nursery. But Georgiana—Miss Lydia has mastered it already. How quickly she adapts.”
Lydia could not be rude, for Mrs. Annesley had praised her. She could not slouch, for that would prove her “untrained” and “country.” She could not shout, or she would be accused of raising a fire alarm.
The door flew open and Kitty burst through.
“Lydia! I found the—”
Mrs. Annesley let out a small, stifled shriek and covered her ears.
Kitty froze. “What is the matter?”
“Hush, Kitty,” Lydia hissed, in a fierce whisper. “Do not shout. Do you want her to think the house is aflame? Sit down and draw your feet in. You sprawl like a farmer’s daughter.”
Elizabeth turned towards the window, hiding her face behind her book before her smile could betray her.
“Mrs. Annesley,” she said in a tone meant only for her, voice perfectly composed, “if you can achieve this much in ten minutes, what devastation might you wreak by tea-time?”
Mrs. Annesley’s eyes crinkled. “I am sure I do not know what you mean, Miss Elizabeth. I merely expressed concern for Miss Lydia’s health. Any caring person would do the same.”
“Any caring person with a talent for generalship, perhaps,” Elizabeth murmured.
Georgiana pressed her hand to her mouth, suppressing a giggle.
Across the hall, Mr. Bennet stood in the doorway of the library. He had witnessed the rout. He met Elizabeth’s gaze, touched two fingers to his forehead in a silent salute to the grey-haired victor, and quietly closed his door.
A Suitor
“Darcy, you mean to call at Longbourn to-day, do you not?” Bingley asked at breakfast, his eagerness evident. “To enquire how Miss Darcy does? You would not be prevailed on to come to the assembly. You must at least come to Longbourn.”
“You know I detest such rooms, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partners,” Darcy said.
“I had no wish to make a spectacle of myself.” He had refused the assembly with more firmness than explanation.
He disliked such rooms at the best of times, and whilst Georgiana was kept quietly at Longbourn, under the pretence of recovering from an illness, he would not draw the neighbourhood’s eyes either upon himself or upon that house by appearing at every public diversion.
It was enough that a few trusted friends should know she was there.
For the present, he preferred that Hertfordshire at large should not suspect it.
“All the more reason to call this morning,” Bingley persisted. “You may hide yourself from the music, if you choose, but I cannot possibly stay away from Miss Bennet. I declare I have been thinking of her ever since last night.”
“I had intended to call, yes.”
“Capital. Then perhaps I might accompany you? It would be quite uncivil not to pay my respects after such an evening, and I should very much like to—that is, it would be proper to—”
“You wish to call upon Miss Bennet.”
Bingley coloured a little, but owned it readily. “Well, yes. She was so very agreeable, and I would not have it thought that I am negligent in my attentions. May I go with you?”
Darcy recognised the entreaty in his friend’s look. Resistance would be useless. “Very well. But we must not stay above a quarter of an hour.”
“Half an hour,” Bingley said at once.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Done.” Bingley’s smile broke out in all its amiable warmth.
They were announced at Longbourn just as the proper hour for morning visits began—early enough to show eagerness, yet not so early as to give offence.
Mrs. Bennet, who had been hovering in the direction of the windows for the last half-hour, came out into the hall in such rapture as she could scarcely govern.
“Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy! What an honour, what a delight. Though to be sure I had some hope—Jane! Jane, Mr. Bingley is here. Girls, we have callers.”
The drawing room presented an uncommon degree of order.
Mrs. Annesley sat by the window with her knitting.
Georgiana was at the pianoforte, a sonata open before her.
Mary occupied a nearby chair with a book.
Most astonishing of all, Lydia and Kitty were seated quietly together—Lydia with her embroidery, Kitty attempting the same with rather less sureness of hand.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, how very good of you to call,” Jane said, rising with graceful composure. The slight bloom in her cheeks spoke tolerably well of Bingley’s effect upon her spirits.
Elizabeth rose too, her smile civil and steady. “Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Bingley, I trust you have recovered from the exertions of the assembly. You danced prodigiously.”
“Entirely recovered, I thank you,” Bingley replied. His eyes had already returned to Jane. “I hope you found it as pleasant as I did?”
“Very pleasant indeed,” Jane said softly.
Darcy had moved to Georgiana. She looked up at him with more animation than he had seen in her since leaving Town.
“I am quite well, Fitzwilliam. Mary and I have been practising some new pieces.”
“I am glad of it. What is before you there?”
“Miss Mary has been so kind as to choose some things she thought would suit my hand—”
She was interrupted by a little cry from the other side of the room. Lydia had pricked her finger.
“Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “You will ruin the work entirely if you will not attend.”
“It was the needle’s fault,” Lydia protested. “It flew into my finger.”
“So they do,” Elizabeth said calmly. “The needles at Longbourn are sadly given to rebellion.”
Mrs. Annesley set down her knitting and crossed to Lydia’s side, her manner composed.
“Let me see.” She examined the finger, wiped away the single bright drop of blood, and smiled.
“A small injury. Nothing to alarm any one. Only, Miss Lydia, if you hold your needle thus—see?—it is far less inclined to fly at you.”
Lydia giggled, but obediently adjusted her hand.
Mrs. Bennet, who had drawn breath for a scold, checked herself. She watched the little scene with an attention not often seen in her, her countenance growing almost reflective.