Chapter 16 #2
How could she have allowed it to happen, to have fallen in love with him so easily, so swiftly, and so completely?
He had been gone from her life for over half a year.
Then, suddenly, there he was again. But it was neither time nor opportunity that determined intimacy.
It was disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and a se’nnight was more than enough for others.
“Then there was the time I encountered a dangerous lion’s mane jellyfish.” Mr Baker evidently had been talking about sea-bathing. “Otherwise known as a red sea nettle, it has hundreds of stinging tentacles. By Jove, I escaped by the skin of a gnat’s eyelash that time.”
Stinging nettles brought to Elizabeth’s mind the note found in her friendship book.
Beware the territorial wasp that may sting repeatedly.
Was someone warning her about ‘Miss Wright the Bur’?
The woman’s deliberately hurtful remarks had often been aimed in Elizabeth’s direction, but her own good manners forbade return displays of spite.
A strong, polished surface simply deflected such barbs.
A whistling sound drew Elizabeth’s attention to the riverbank, where she spotted the dabbling widgeon that had made the call. Rather than stinging me, Miss Wright’s barbs simply roll away, like water off a duck’s back.
Mr Baker rattled on about the health benefits of living near the sea. “But, of course, the marshes and swamps are a different story. Some folks believe ill health is caused by the miasmas and mud found in such places.”
“Frederick!” Miss Baker gave her brother such a shove that he nearly toppled over the side. “Pay him no mind, Miss Bennet. Folks hereabout have been digging in the mud for centuries and are still alive.”
“Aye, Emma? Alive for centuries, have they been?”
“You know what I mean, Brother.” For Elizabeth’s benefit Miss Baker explained that Tom managed their rhynes by digging out the plants that clogged them. “Reeds as well as the withies from willows are useful for basket making, so nothing much goes to waste.”
As much as Elizabeth appreciated their chatter and banter, she found herself longing for the quiet dignity and serenity she had enjoyed aboard Mr Darcy’s punt.
He is exactly the gentleman who, in every aspect, would most suit me.
Although our temperaments are unalike, such a union would be advantageous to us both.
He is less serious and troubled in my company and more so in Miss Wright’s.
Did that shameless woman brazenly lie to me, all the while incriminating herself?
But, of course, even if she did misrepresent the truth, it does not follow that Mr Darcy would want to marry me instead.
As the lady herself proclaimed, it is all about connexions.
Alas! How inconvenient to discover that my happiness now depends entirely upon him!
Miss Hughes nudged her. “Did you know that there is a footpath running from Willow Bourn’s source—a spring in the hills—all the way to the Channel? The mouth is a waterfall flowing into Wyman’s Cove and emptying into the sea.”
“Where is the waterfall, Mr Baker?”
“Farther west than both Cliff House and Strandsmere but within walking distance. About two miles.”
Less than Longbourn to Netherfield. Bending to put on her boots, Elizabeth asked whether Miss Hughes would like to go sometime and was told that two miles to the cascade and two miles back was too great a distance for her.
“It is not only too far,” said Miss Baker. “But one must time such a walk carefully due to our fast-rising tides.”
Having soaked in a fragrant bath for half an hour, Elizabeth donned a chemise and sat by the fire until her clean locks dried and curled naturally.
She then surrendered to Miss Taylor’s ministrations, during which time her hair was dressed and a white muslin with vertical lavender stripes was chosen for her to wear to dinner.
“There, Miss Bennet. Pretty as a picture you are. ’Tis unfortunate there is no other bachelor than Mr Baker here tonight to appreciate your good looks.”
The only bachelor I care about is currently in the company of ‘Miss Hannah Wright the Bur’.
Despite Elizabeth’s disbelief about their alleged secret understanding, she had no doubt about what a handsome couple Mr Darcy and the blue-eyed, auburn-haired beauty could be.
But, even if their engagement was merely a delusion on that lady’s part, she supposed that Mr Darcy was always beyond her own reach.
Silently she snorted to herself, then asked Miss Taylor whether she knew Aesop’s fable about the fox and the grapes.
“Of course. The fox tries to reach grapes that are too high in a tree. Thinking himself a fool for struggling to snatch a bunch of sour grapes unworthy of such an effort, he walks away. The moral being that some people pretend to despise or belittle whatever is beyond their reach.”
I should walk away. But I will not. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Taylor. I feel so much better now.” Physically, that is. “And please do whatever you can to restore my sister’s gown.”
After two courses of Mrs Poole’s exemplary fare, Elizabeth joined the Bakers and their niece in the sitting room where they were to take turns reading aloud from a book of Miss Hughes’s choice, for it was her turn to select a title.
“Oh, perfect!” Turning from the bookshelf, grinning, her friend held up Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake. Mr Baker and his niece then teased Elizabeth until they grew serious and began reading the narrative poem.
When the sky grew dark, Elizabeth stifled a yawn and bid the others a good night.
Alone with her thoughts in her bedchamber, with a single candle shedding dim light, she went to the window, studied her reflection in the glass, and wondered again whether she had misconstrued that Mr Darcy’s friendship was more than just that.
It was in the tenderness of his expression and in the joy that he seemed to exude whenever we engaged in conversation.
It was in the force that seemed to draw us together.
Lodestone and iron filings. An attraction, an attachment.
It was not one-sided, was it? Her thoughts and opinions continued to vacillate.
He is a good man, and I cannot believe Mr Darcy would trifle with any woman, nor would he have no care for Miss Wright’s reputation, not after the way his own sister was treated so abominably by Mr Wickham.
She could not tell the gentleman how she felt, but she almost wished Mr Darcy might be made aware of it.
Then he might understand why it was heart wrenching for her to be in his company while remaining unaware of his feelings or intentions.
How could I possibly bear finally hearing or reading the announcement of his marriage…
if not to Miss Wright, then to some other ‘superior’ connexion?
My distress must be put to that woman’s charge, not Mr Darcy’s, and all will be well when I return to Longbourn and Jane. Sweet, caring Jane! To once again be with my dearest sister who will listen to my doubts and my woes. Together, we shall comfort and commiserate with one another.
About to climb into bed, Elizabeth decided to search one more time before trying to sleep.
Dressing gown on, she took the candle and quietly crept down the stairs, hoping to find a letter from Jane on the console table in the hall where the post was placed.
Perhaps Miss Hughes or one of the Bakers picked it up by mistake and, realising it was addressed to me, returned it here.
However there was nothing there but an empty tray.
She looked beneath the table. The only thing on the floor was a long-legged spider.