Chapter 38
A bsent Mrs Bennet’s overriding presence, none of us paid particular attention to the clock during that visit, which slipped past the acceptable time strictly allotted to morning calls.
After such leisurely pursuits as puzzle-making and the dissection of fanciful gowns no human woman could actually wear, we endured a Mozart piece performed by Miss Mary which pleased her greatly.
Elizabeth, striving to overcome the impatience in her voice after that performance, suggested we go for a walk to a patch of wilderness on her father’s estate.
She and Georgiana went ahead of us with their heads together in earnest conversation, Fitzwilliam took Miss Bennet’s arm and followed them, and the youngest sisters—having forgotten me—trailed behind the eldest and engaged in senseless observations of the previous night’s dinner party.
This left me to walk beside Mary Bennet, who was well-occupied with her own thoughts—perhaps reliving her recent recital, for she did hum a little as we went.
My position in this train was reminiscent of plodding up long-abandoned Roman roads with no clear idea what was just over the next rise, mirroring the fact that I was not privy to what was unfolding at the front of our procession.
Eventually, our party could stay at Longbourn no longer without becoming a nuisance, and we called for our horses and rode back to Netherfield Park. My sister’s mood was now complacent, and my cousin seemed to be lost in thought, both leaving me to guess what conversations they had on that walk.
In Georgiana’s case, what her friend might have said to her soon became clear.
She came downstairs after changing out of her riding clothes, and with a pleasant expression fixed upon her face, she joined Mrs Annesley on a settee and engaged the other ladies of the party—including Miss Bingley—in polite conversation.
What had passed between Miss Bennet and Fitzwilliam was less apparent, for he seemed a closed book for the rest of the day.
We hunted the next morning with Bingley and Hurst, while Mr Johnson, who did not even pretend to be a sporting man, read various journals to which he subscribed.
Upon returning to my room, Carsten stood by in the usual manner as I washed and changed clothes, but as we went about this mundane ritual, I began to notice that he was looking at me closely. Having no need to exercise finesse with him, I asked, “To what do I owe your peculiar scrutiny?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“You know well enough what I mean. Do I have spots on my face?”
His expression shifted from professional politeness to resignation, and he said matter-of-factly, “You seem a bit worn, Mr Darcy, and I am concerned since you were so very lately…well?—”
“Nearly dead?”
“If you must say it so plainly, then yes. I fear you risk a relapse if you do not get proper rest, sir.”
“You know I never sleep well in a strange bed,” I said evasively.
While I did not have to admit anything to him , I did have to admit to myself that I was not so spry I could leap off a sick bed and expect to climb mountains.
I was tired, and so I went to the library, and upon the pretence of reading, I sat sleepily over a book.
Just as I was about to close my eyes, however, Fitzwilliam came into the room.
He looked at me appraisingly. “It seems to me the juice has been squeezed from this orange, Darcy.”
“Whenever you speak in metaphor, I become uneasy. Please tell me you did not come to convince me to escape with you to the tavern in Meryton.”
“In your condition?” he scoffed. “You are still a touch hollow-eyed, Cousin. I am only saying I have skated over thin ice and not fallen in, but perhaps it is time to call quits.”
I had seen the effects of a souring house party before, and I knew from experience that almost as a tower made of cards falls, the gathering collapses. I had not, however, expected it to happen so soon or that the first to defect would be my more sociable cousin.
“Another metaphor? Now I am downright anxious. By chance do you refer to how very close you are to repeating Bingley’s mistake with Miss Bennet and her family? What did she say to you to cause you to blink?”
“Nothing! Only I have gone as far as is prudent. And as for your cause, clearly you are not of a mind to put yourself forwards.”
If only he knew just how far forwards I had been nudged by the lady who was my ‘cause’, I thought he might not be so smug.
Choosing not to be baited into revealing more than I wished, I merely asked when he planned to leave and received a vague reply that it would be sooner than later.
I then returned half-heartedly to my book while Fitzwilliam went to the escritoire in the corner of the room and wrote a letter, and we would have sat there in silence for much longer had we not been interrupted by our host.
Miss Johnson had developed a cold, Bingley said in accents of apology, and her mother wished for her to be seen by their personal physician in London.
We expressed our concern, which was admittedly not great.
He, however, decried the risk of travel to his lady, though he conceded it was beyond his right to prevail against the family’s determination to go.
He left unsaid the primary issue, which was that Mrs Johnson could not hide her developing dislike of his sister, and she would leave regardless of the transparency of her excuse.
Perhaps conscious of the urgent need to demonstrate to his affianced and her family that his alliance to them far outpaced his loyalty to his sister, Bingley sheepishly confessed his plans to abandon the country, adding a heartfelt plea for understanding.
“Forgive me, Darcy,” he said. “But I feel I should show my concern.”
“Of course you should go,” I replied as I closed my book. “When Miss Johnson is well enough for callers, send me a note. Georgiana will be anxious to visit her.”
“I myself had already planned to go,” Fitzwilliam said as further assurance this news was not unwelcome. “My period of leave is not generous this time of year. In fact,” he said as he looked at his watch, “I should tell Donaldson to pack my things.”
With visible relief, Bingley’s smile returned.
He invited Fitzwilliam to travel with him, and this being agreeable to my cousin, he said, “In that case, we can visit my neighbours in the morning to say farewell and leave directly thereafter.” Almost coldly, he added, “My sisters will close the house, since they are to visit Hurst’s relations in Sussex. ”
Had he banished his sister for bad behaviour? The answer to that question was of little interest since my desperation for a nap had been replaced by the urgency I suddenly felt to act on my own behalf before we were forced to leave Hertfordshire prematurely.
After Fitzwilliam went upstairs, I sent a note to Keller to bring my carriage around to the back entrance in half an hour, and we struck off down the less frequented—and less visible—lane to Longbourn.
It had been scurrilous to exclude Georgiana from a visit with her friend, but I had justified this as reasonable given the nature of my errand.
Upon arrival, I applied to the housekeeper for a word with Mr Bennet. As I waited to be shown in to see him, I could not help overhearing Lydia Bennet from the landing at the top of the stair.
“Never mind, Mama,” she called behind her. “It is only Mr Darcy come to visit Papa.”
Mr Bennet received me with equal indifference, compounded by a look of unwelcome surprise. After a most cursory greeting, he motioned me to a chair.
“Well, sir? To what do I owe the honour of a visit?”
“I have come to ask your permission to court your second daughter, Elizabeth.”
He looked sceptically at my face, and I strove to keep my expression as neutral as I could while he considered his reply.
“Very well,” he said at last, before turning back to his book. When I did not stand to take my leave, he put his book face down in his lap and said, “Is there aught else we should speak of?”
“I-well…no, I suppose not, sir.”
“Ah. You think I should be surprised or perhaps even astounded. But you are not the first man I have seen who is in love, and unfortunately, with five daughters, you will not be the last. As to what Elizabeth will say to you, I cannot even speculate. There was a time when she bristled at the mention of your name.”
“It is my hope she has changed her opinion of me.”
“Well you should hope, since my daughter has no capacity to suffer fools.”
“Much like her father,” I said.
At last his countenance shifted from irritability to something closer to tolerance, though not enough to refrain from dishing out another helping of high irony.
“Forgive me,” he said with false gentleness, “but I fail to understand why our business has not yet concluded? Unless you wish me to express awe and gratitude that someone of your wealth and position has condescended?—”
I stood abruptly and gave him an equal measure of plain-speaking. “I would be appalled if you did so.”
“Then what more is expected? Forgive me, you are my first applicant for the role of son-in-law, and I have not read up on the rules that now apply.”
“I would prefer that your daughter and I be given at least a little privacy while we determine if we are suited.”
“If you are asking me not to tell Mrs Bennet, I assure you I had no such plan. I do not easily sacrifice my peace, and though it would perhaps amuse me to see you at the centre of my wife’s cries of joy and expectation, you may proceed as if we have not had this meeting.”
“And might I count on you to look the other way if I take Elizabeth aside for a private conversation?”
“My good man,” he said with a twitch of his moustache, “I have made an art of looking the other way for the whole of my life. Now, go away.”
“Very well,” I said, “and since you are as disinclined to nurse my vanity as you are to indulge the whims of your closest relations, I have no choice but to conclude you look favourably upon the match.”
To this, he laughed and waved me away, and heartened by what some would consider a daunting interview, I was shown to the door by Mrs Hill.
Upon putting on my coat and taking from her my gloves and hat, I said, “My sister entrusted me with a message for Miss Elizabeth. Might you ask if she could see me briefly before I go?”