CHAPTER THREE
MRS REYNOLDS RETURNED sooner than Elizabeth had expected, with the same cheerful composure and a faint air of apology.
“If you are ready, miss,” she said, addressing Jane and Elizabeth together, “I shall show you and your sisters to your rooms. Your parents will follow shortly.”
They quitted the parlour and crossed the great hall, their footsteps softened by the rich carpets.
The garlands of evergreen that adorned the banisters and doorways lent a faint scent of pine to the air; candles had already been lit against the deepening afternoon, and the high ceiling above them glowed in a warm, subdued light.
Lydia, who had quite given up her earlier affectations of indifference, whispered to Kitty that she had never seen anything half so grand. Mary observed that magnificence was no guarantee of felicity.
Elizabeth heard it all without truly listening. Her thoughts were too full of Darcy’s voice, of Bingley’s unsteady smile, of the snow pressing more thickly against the windows.
They had just begun to ascend the principal staircase when a familiar figure appeared at the top, descending with quick, assured steps. At the sight of them he halted.
"Miss Bennet... Miss Elizabeth," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, a ready smile lighting his features. "What an unexpected pleasure."
He bowed with genuine warmth.
Elizabeth felt herself colour, remembering all too well their conversations at Rosings, his hints, his knowledge of Darcy's interference in Jane's affairs. She curtsied. "Colonel Fitzwilliam. We are as much surprised as you."
He greeted the entire party with equal civility, then continued with some curiosity, "Darcy made no mention that he had invited the Bennet family to join him for Christmas. I confess myself quite in the dark."
"We were merely travelling from Lambton and intended only to view the house. Mr Darcy has been kind enough to receive us, as the snow threatens to grow heavier."
"I call it a most fortunate storm, then," he replied warmly. "The weather does not always consult one's arrangements, but in this instance it has served very well indeed."
His glance flickered, with a hint of mischief, between Elizabeth and Jane. "I do not doubt Darcy is very glad of such an interruption to his solitude."
Jane smiled, though she did not raise her eyes. Elizabeth's heart gave a small, confused leap.
Mrs Reynolds, ever mindful of her duty, interposed gently, "We must not delay the young ladies, Colonel. They are in need of rest, and I have much to see to before dinner."
"Then I shall not detain you," he said with his accustomed good humour. "We shall have leisure enough to talk this evening."
He stepped aside, and they moved past him along the landing. Elizabeth could not help feeling that his presence, friendly as it was, only reminded her how much more deeply he must understand Darcy's feelings than she herself did.
Lydia and Kitty immediately pressed her with questions about who he was.
Elizabeth reminded them, with some brevity, of what she had already told them of her time in Kent.
Jane, conscious that Mrs Reynolds might overhear and mistake her sisters' enthusiasm for something more particular, gently advised them that their questions might be better reserved for when they were private.
Mrs Reynolds led the party along a broad passage hung with portraits half veiled by winter light. One by one she opened doors and offered brief explanations as to each chamber.
Mary was shown to a small but cheerful room overlooking the stable court; she thanked the housekeeper with grave propriety and at once inquired whether there was a writing desk.
Kitty and Lydia were placed together next door, though Mrs Reynolds, with polite delicacy, offered to give Mrs Wickham a separate chamber for her comfort. Lydia laughed and declined.
“Oh, I would not be banished alone, ma’am. Kitty and I shall talk ourselves to sleep. Wickham says I never can bear solitude.”
Mrs Reynolds’s brows lifted slightly, but she inclined her head. “As you wish, madam. The fire is well laid, and hot water will be brought up directly.”
At last she turned the corner of the passage and opened a wider door upon a bright chamber where a fire burned merrily in the grate. Two beds stood neatly turned down, and the snow-paled light from the tall windows lent the room a quiet charm.
“I thought you and Miss Bennet might like to be together,” she said kindly to Elizabeth. “If, however, either of you would prefer a separate room, there is one just across the way.”
Jane smiled. "Pray do not trouble yourself, Mrs Reynolds. If the weather permits our departure, we expect to remain but a single night. This will suit us perfectly."
“Very good, miss. Your trunks will be brought up shortly; a maid will attend you to choose what you require for the evening.”
Elizabeth thanked her warmly, and Mrs Reynolds, after a pleased curtsy, reminded them that dinner would be served at six before withdrawing.
When she had withdrawn and the door closed behind her, the room seemed at once very still.
Jane crossed to the window and looked out. “The snow is thicker than ever,” she said softly. “I can scarcely see the any grass.”
Elizabeth removed her bonnet with fingers that felt clumsy. She set it down upon the nearest chair and joined her sister at the window. The world beyond appeared more grey than white, the flakes falling in an unbroken curtain, soft and relentless.
“Well,” Jane said after a moment, “this is very different from what we expected when we left London.”
Elizabeth gave a short, unsteady laugh. “I had thought we should see the house from without and be back at the inn within an hour.”
“And instead,” Jane continued gently, “we are to sleep under Mr Darcy’s roof.”
There was no censure in her tone, only quiet wonder.
For a little while neither spoke. The snow fell, the fire crackled softly, and the muffled sounds of their family arranging themselves in the neighbouring rooms came faintly through the wall.
At length Jane turned, and Elizabeth saw that her eyes were brighter than usual. “To see Mr Bingley so suddenly, after all this time…” She broke off, then smiled in an effort at composure. “I did not know what to say, Lizzy. I could scarcely believe he was truly there.”
Elizabeth took her hand. “He looked as though he scarcely believed it himself. I have never seen him so… out of countenance.”
“He seemed much altered. Not in his manner, exactly, but in his spirits. As if… as if part of his cheerfulness had been put aside.”
Elizabeth remembered the way he had faltered, the way his smile had trembled. “Perhaps it has.”
Jane hesitated. “Do you think he was glad to see me?”
“Glad?” Elizabeth repeated. “If he was not, then I am sorely mistaken in all I have ever thought about him. He could hardly take his eyes from you.”
Jane’s fingers tightened on hers. “And yet he never came back. He never wrote. I have no right to expect anything now.”
“You have a right to your own feelings,” Elizabeth replied, more firmly than she felt.
“And whatever his reasons, I cannot believe they were born of indifference.” She paused, the memory of a certain spring day at Hunsford rising before her.
“I have reason to think,” she added more quietly, “that others had some share in keeping him away.”
Jane looked at her with a gentle, searching expression. “Do you mean Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth drew a breath. “I once believed so… and resented him for it. Now I am no longer certain resentment was just. There is much I do not fully understand.”
“And how do you feel about seeing him again?” Jane asked softly.
Elizabeth turned her face once more toward the window, where the bare trees stood faint behind the falling light.
“I know what I feel,” she said at last, her voice low.
“Gratitude, yes—but more than that. He has shown himself so very different from the man I once believed him to be. When I think of all he has done for Lydia, for all of us, I can hardly bear it. And yet, knowing I once misjudged him so cruelly… I hardly know how to meet his eyes.”
“He does not look as though he bears resentment.”
“No,” Elizabeth murmured. “He looks—he looks as if the past were forgiven, though I do not deserve it.” She drew a long breath.
“It is foolish to speak so. Nothing can come of it. And still, when I see him, I feel…” She stopped, her eyes upon the snow-blurred world beyond the glass.
“I feel as though my heart had already chosen, and I am only just beginning to know it.”
Jane’s expression softened, full of that quiet kindness which never sought to press. “Then perhaps this snow, inconvenient as it is, may do some good. It has brought you together again, at least for a little while.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “You are ever ready to hope, dearest. I am afraid I have too much pride to do the same.”
Jane turned back to the fire, stirring it lightly with the poker. “Pride is not always a fault, Lizzy. Sometimes it is only the heart’s way of protecting itself.”
For a moment neither spoke. The room glowed with the mellow light of the fire, the air faintly scented by burning pine. Then Jane said quietly, “Do you think Mr Bingley’s sisters are here too?”
Elizabeth glanced at her. “It is possible. If they are, I suppose we shall know at dinner. I can hardly think Miss Bingley would choose to spend Christmas anywhere but where Mr Darcy may be found.”
Jane coloured faintly but smiled. “I only wondered whether they might prefer town. But you are right—where one sister goes, the other is sure to follow. The Hursts, too, will be together, I imagine.”
Elizabeth gave a small, wry laugh. “Then I must prepare myself for Miss Bingley’s astonishment. I daresay she will find our presence here as shocking as if the snow had brought heathens to her door.”
“You are unkind, Lizzy.” Jane shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.