Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Oh, of course that is one of the great advantages! To be near Pemberley is above everything! I am sure my brother is considering that, his friendship with Mr Darcy being what it is.”
“Yes. I do believe it is advantageous to him,” was all Aunt Darcy said.
Miss Bingley’s colour was rather high. She bit into one of the little cakes with such force it was a wonder her teeth did not crack.
Conversation following this exchange became strained, and it was not long before Miss Bingley reminded Mrs Hurst that if they were to see to the repairs needed to the latter’s evening dress (“A minor thing, indeed, but it is best if Louisa and I oversee the maid’s work to ensure a good outcome!
”), they had better go upstairs directly.
Mrs Hurst rose with such alacrity she might have been the ball shot from a cannon, and the two ladies departed with curtseys and expressions of esteem and civility.
“Oh,” said Jane, when the door had closed. “Did I misunderstand?”
“I am afraid I cannot believe that Miss Bingley is a friend to her brother’s admiration for you.
” Elizabeth placed her tea cup onto the table.
She suspected that the attendance by her mother and the girls at dinner the previous day had not increased Miss Bingley’s regard for the Bennet family.
“Her hints, while couched in civility, seemed to suggest she dislikes the idea of Mr Bingley being within an easy distance of you.”
“Perhaps.” Aunt Darcy was calm, as ever. “But the material point is, what does Mr Bingley like?”
Jane only blushed.
“It seems,” Elizabeth said, “that you may be called upon to disoblige his two sisters in the matter. I am sure that, loathe though you may be to cause them distress, this will be more than overcome by the happiness of being assured of his regard.”
“Lizzy! You do talk nonsense, sometimes,” said Jane, faintly smiling. “If I am lucky enough to fix Mr Bingley’s interest, I will grieve for their disapprobation but cannot allow it to weigh with me.”
“Excellent. I am delighted to find you so resolved.” Aunt Darcy lifted the tea pot. “I believe this is still hot enough to be drinkable. Let us celebrate the extension of everyone’s circles, as Miss Bingley had it. I will happily welcome her brother to ours.”
Tuesday was the mirror of Monday: another tedious day with nothing for Elizabeth to do but wait and hope and pray, and all borne in pained silence.
She was improved in body, if not in spirits, and rose not long after her usual time, although she ate breakfast in her room.
She was not quite up to the exertion of being civil to the Bingley ladies before she could fortify herself with toast and hot chocolate.
It would be enough to spend another day with them, the ladies occupying themselves with needlework until the gentlemen returned home.
Sitting idle on a sofa, Elizabeth watched Jane embroidering letter Cs onto the corners of a fine lawn handkerchief. A present for Caroline Bingley, perhaps, although Jane had chosen a somewhat masculine pattern if the handkerchief were intended for a lady’s use.
At least Tom Lackenby was still at Pemberley to bear Hugh company, and, though Tom knew it not, to help keep Hugh safe.
The pair of them haunted the billiards room and the gun room, and they took it upon themselves to clean and set to rights every firearm in the place.
Elizabeth left them to their boyish enthusiasms. She was not so fond of the smell of gun oil that she wanted it close about her.
As noon approached, a commotion in the hall suggested the gentlemen had returned.
The ladies in the yellow saloon hid embroideries or La Belle Assemblée behind cushions, fixed smiles of welcome upon their faces, and, to display their figures to best advantage, sat so upright a measurable space appeared between spine and sofa cushions, as if all held invisible backboards.
Elizabeth did not attempt to emulate them in any respect.
It was too painful, and she rather thought a smile would crack her face.
Bingley came in, beaming brighter than a small, jolly sun. While he greeted the ladies with the sort of cheer that ordinarily Elizabeth enjoyed but now had her grinding her teeth to keep the sharp words fenced in, she craned her head to see behind him.
No one else entered. No one.
Her chest could not ache more if swathed in iron bands, and it took a great effort of will not to tap her foot on the Persian carpet.
It would have been a boon to soothe a body so tense she longed to quiver with it, so hot she felt fevered.
She closed her eyes. The passivity society forced upon women, the expectation of ladylike behaviour no matter the circumstances, made her teeth ache with the strain of keeping her mouth tight closed.
How wonderfully freeing it would be to roar out her frustration!
Bingley bounded around the room to greet everyone, demanded Elizabeth confirm she was quite well and assured her, in turn, she was blooming, when she knew she looked a complete antidote.
Hag-ridden, in fact. Once these niceties were observed, Mr Bingley rhapsodised over Riverlethe, declaring it a perfectly positioned, perfectly appointed house, with perfectly pretty gardens, and the estate was not so large as to be daunting, you know, but perfectly sized for a novice such as himself to learn to be a landowner. All in all, Riverlethe was perfect.
“I came on ahead to tell you all about the house.” He looked at Jane as he spoke, returned the smile she gave him with a brilliant one of his own, and turned to Aunt Darcy.
“However, though I should prefer to sit and tell you of our endeavours, I am afraid business will delay my pleasure there. I am enjoined to give you a message, Mrs Darcy, that while Hurst follows me, Darcy and Reid intend to go to Sparrowhill with Mr Wickham. Darcy has asked me to send Mr Hugh to join them. Some urgent estate business, I believe, that they wish to discuss at once. They will return in time for dinner. Furthermore, I promised Darcy my aid, and so, if you will forgive me, ladies, I will leave a fuller discussion of Riverlethe until we meet again this evening, although you may try to win opinions from Hurst, if you wish to attempt it when he arrives. He cannot be a half hour behind me, I am certain.”
“Really, Charles!” Miss Bingley’s tone was lightly scolding. “Of course, we wish to be told all about it! What business can be so pressing?”
“I undertook to write to my uncle in the East India Company on Darcy’s behalf, you see, so I must give it all my attention since my family will tell you I write in the most careless way imaginable.”
Miss Bingley tittered. “Indeed! He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.”
“Whereas I maintain it is not carelessness, but my ideas flow so rapidly I do not have time to express them. However, since this is a most important communication for Darcy, I mean to expend my best efforts upon it.”
When Elizabeth stared at him, he appeared to be watching her closely, an odd gravity overlying his usual broad cheerfulness.
He gave a swift, decisive nod—aimed at her?
it appeared to be—bowed, and bounded out as energetically as he had bounded in.
One would not believe he had spent the better part of two days riding to and from Riverlethe.
The East India Company? What had that to do with anything?
Elizabeth was weary now, the tension draining out of her, but she could not settle and rest. She attempted it, but found she could not listen with equanimity, much less pleasure, to Miss Bingley’s and Mrs Hurst’s conjectures and opinions of Riverlethe Hall.
The sisters, of course, had no more information on the place than she did herself, and Riverlethe could hold no interest at all for her unless—until—it was of particular interest to Jane.
She roused herself and climbed carefully to her feet, unbalanced with her right arm held secure and immobile in the sling.
The entire company turned to her. Elizabeth mustered a smile.
“Excuse me for a little while. I will leave you to your anticipation and hope Riverlethe will provide your family with all the happiness that comes from possessing such an estate, and Riverlethe is, as Mr Bingley proclaimed, the perfect house in which to establish himself.”
She dipped into a shallow curtsey and made her way out of the room to find Hugh and add her voice to whatever persuasions Mr Bingley had offered.
Mr Bingley met her outside the gun room. “I was about to come and beg your assistance. I do not think Mr Hugh will answer the summons to Sparrowhill on my word alone. Will you see what you might do to persuade him?”
“Of course. I know how Hugh can be.”
Mr Bingley’s smile widened. “Darcy said you would be the best person to help.” He bowed. “Excuse me. I have that letter to write.”
She smiled back, and waited until he had turned into the corridor to the Great Hall, before she went into the gun room to fulfil her part. Perhaps Hugh would impute her blushes to a mild fever, or something of that sort, and not at all to the warmth of gratification.
Hugh and Tom leant on either side of a table with their heads close together, two hunting guns laid out in front of them and the smell of gun oil thick on the air.
From what Elizabeth had heard of their urgent, but quiet tones as she approached the door, they were discussing something with sharp intensity.
Tom wore an earnest expression, but Hugh looked impatient and cross.
He frowned mightily, black-browed, and ran his hands through his unruly hair as he argued.
Both straightened hurriedly when she came in, and recollected themselves enough to bow.
She nodded, but did not attempt another curtsey. “I believe you saw Mr Bingley, Hugh?”