Netherfield
The lighting was extravagant, with chandeliers, wall sconces and candelabras scattered throughout with the finest beeswax candles.
They even had a few argand lamps, though not enough to light the entire gathering.
The table coverings and draperies were mostly silk, as were the superior sister’s clothing.
The musicians were obviously not local and even appeared likely to remain in-tune and possibly even sober for a while.
The maids and footmen wore livery so starched I hoped none of them jostled me hard enough to cut me with a crease.
All in all, it was quite the spectacle. I even succeeded in avoiding overhearing very much of interest. There were of course Lizzy’s usual sharp comments about all assembled (a bit too much of her father in that one).
Her dance with Mr Darcy was hilarious, and I wondered if there were ever any two people so well matched yet so determined to hate each other until the end of time.
Elizabeth held her animosity toward the foolish man like a precious jewel. Mr Wickham had poured poison in her ear on top of what the dunderhead had provided himself with his slight at the assembly and general churlishness since.
I imagine Lizzy would have discerned the truth eventually, but since Mr Wickham died ‘tragically’ at Lucas Lodge, and his plans were no better known than Mr Collins’ had been, she was in the dark about what a scoundrel he was.
To her mind, Wickham was just an unlucky fellow who drank too much and stumbled upon the stairs.
It was unfortunate, but she knew far too many men who witnessed the spectacle and muttered there but for the grace—
I was rather enjoying the whole display until I was once again, as usual, alerted by overhearing a name. Of course, the lady I heard had such an unpleasant voice I suspect the dogs in the kennels and the musicians overheard as much as I did.
The Bingley sisters were discussing their dear Charles and his courtship of Jane, such as it was.
I will not bore you with exactly what they said, though I can still hear the words in my head.
They had been strongly opposed to the match until Mr Collins’ untimely end.
The rumours asserted that the entail ended with his demise as he was the very last of the male descendants.
Bad luck for him, but apparently good luck for the Bennets and Bingleys.
The inquiry into remaining candidates was performed by Mr Philips, the husband of the second biggest gossip in the neighbourhood, so it was common knowledge within days that there were no more male descendants of the body.
According to the sisters’ discussion, they were desperate to become landed gentry so Miss Bingley could capture Mr Darcy.
However, they had one tiny little problem (aside from the fact that Mr Darcy despised her).
Mr Bingley was nowhere near as flush as he pretended.
He was not destitute, but he could not come within a league of buying Netherfield.
He could afford to lease it for some years, and the ball would not cripple him, but an outright purchase was not probable in the near future (or ever, given the way his sisters spent money).
Everyone believed that Jane would be the new heiress to Longbourn, or more likely, her eldest son with her husband as guardian at worst. The universally accepted wisdom was that if Jane were the first to wed, she would almost certainly be an heiress.
Ipso facto, if Mr Bingley married her, his elevation to the gentry would be rapid and almost without cost. As the potential father to the heir of an estate, he would be considered as much a gentleman as his inebriated brother-in-law—for what the distinction was worth.
The ladies also dwelt upon the idea that their dear brother would have beautiful children from his wife, but he need not be exclusive in his affections… certainly no more than he had ever been (apparently not very).
I was about to ignore it all as sour grapes, but then I began to consider what Jane’s life would be like amongst those snakes.
My mind was made up when Mr Bingley himself joined them.
His words suggested that he did regard the possible inheritance of Longbourn as almost a foregone conclusion (he obviously knew nothing of how inheritance worked).
He did not endorse his proposed infidelities, but he was nonchalant enough in his effusions of affection and constancy to give me pause.
While I had no faith in his sisters, there seemed little point in them prevaricating with each other in a private conversation.
It made me wonder. Was this the best Jane could hope for?
The very best? Even with the entail broken?
Heiress or not, her position had improved considerably since any heir would be a hundred times better than Mr Collins.
She obviously no longer faced any risk of being cast out to starve in the hedgerows.
That meant she no longer needed to accept the first muttonhead to present himself.
In the end, the Netherfield party was easy enough to test, and I even accomplished it without resorting to violence, which is my ordinary preference for obviously pragmatic reasons.
I had only to place a tiny little obstacle in the man’s path and see if he overcame it.
The challenge need not be large, just enough to show that he was serious.
Of course, I would watch him like a hawk eyeing a rabbit if he returned to court Jane, but if he could not overcome the tiny little obstacle I planned, he was not worthy of Jane (or any woman for that matter).
A few words whispered in the right ear and a few coins greasing the right palms, had Mr Darcy convinced that Jane was mildly interested in the gentleman, though not terribly opposed either, but her mother would likely force her to accept.
Naturally, she also might not be quite so amiable after the wedding.
Fortuitously, the Longbourn matriarch rendered my task trivially easy by spending the entire supper hour talking endlessly about how Jane’s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men.
She spoke as if the engagement was settled, and nothing need be decided, save the date and the dress.
I suspected I could have done exactly nothing with just about the same result.
Elizabeth tried to stem the tide of her silliness, noting the obvious fact that Mr Darcy was listening to the rant—entirely without success. She succeeded only in provoking her mother to further insult the gentleman by saying she cared not a whit what he heard—within his hearing!
I suspected I could make a nice cup of tea by setting the pot on Mr Darcy’s head to boil. I half expected him to wrestle Mr Bingley to the floor and drag him from the room.
Through an earlier overheard conversation, I had learned that Mr Darcy was also interested in a love match, which was unfortunate in a way since Lizzy could barely stand the sight of him.
It did not help matters that he was as confused as most men, and to be honest, a bit too full of himself and his consequence.
He wanted a love match but had apparently fallen in love with an ‘unsuitable woman’, and somehow thought he might discover another among the ton that he had overlooked for a decade.
I swear, some men just do not think things through!
Be that as it may, by the time I finished filling the Derbyshire gentleman’s head with nonsense, the entire party decamped for greener pastures, with Mr Darcy trying to convince Mr Bingley that the Bennets were merely mercenary, and Jane’s affection was lukewarm at best.
I felt comfortable in the assertion that any knucklehead who listened to Mr Darcy on matters of the heart deserved his fate.
The most casual observer could see the man had not the slightest idea of how women thought.
Moreover, if there was any doubt it required naught but some time and honest conversation to resolve the matter.
I could devise a dozen ways for the man to continue learning Jane’s true feelings without raising expectations or tolerating her mother.
Back in my bed I fell easily into the dreamless sleep of the just with one last thought:
? Jane is safe!