Chapter Stoke
Stoke
My next great surprise overtook me gradually over December and January.
Mr Bingley had not returned, much to Jane’s disappointment, Lizzy’s burning anger, and my indifference.
I sometimes wondered if I had acted rightly, and even briefly considered explaining the situation to them since they were sensible and discreet.
Fortunately, I overcame that bit of madness before it came to fruition.
They might forgive interference with Mr Bingley, but I did not want anyone to dwell upon other odd occurrences of the autumn.
I was not so sanguine about my safety after three murders.
Jane accepted her aunt’s suggestion to return to town for the winter, which left Lizzy out of sorts, but the promise of a trip to the lakes in the summer was enough to revive her spirits when she felt melancholy.
Over the course of the holidays, strategic eavesdropping led me to learn that Lieutenant Chamberlayne was a surprisingly good man, and furthermore he had a promising future.
He never participated with his comrades in gambling, and more importantly, never engaged in flirting, speculation about flirting, wagers on flirting, or any other form of disrespect for our fine ladies (at least not within the range of my considerable hearing).
To hear his fellow officers whine, one might suppose they had a monk among them who preached twelve hours a day.
The officer was to inherit his father's estate eventually, but the man insisted he ‘prove his mettle’ (his words) as he waited to inherit.
The son suggested the army. His father was not willing to countenance the regulars for his heir, so he chose the militia, little suspecting what a bunch of pompous dandiprats they were, and how little actual leadership experience his son was likely to acquire (unless, of course, his desire was to have his heir learn how to strut around in a uniform like a rooster and flirt with senseless girls).
Of course, none of that was of particular interest, but what was fascinating was the mutual attraction between him and a Bennet daughter.
It began slowly and innocuously over Christmastide and became something real throughout January.
During that month, they shared one dance at most events and sometimes two.
They frequently sat together at supper and could usually be found with their heads together much like Jane had with Mr Bingley before he proved himself just another unsteady upstart.
The young man had an allowance sufficient to support a wife—not in great luxury, but hardly penury either.
His father was healthy, but advancing in years, and had even hinted that he might call his son home and set him to master the management of the estate if he took a wife.
His only requirement seemed to be that she be kind, the daughter of a gentleman, and not prone to flights of extravagance or bad temper.
The idea of a grandchild or two was also not regarded with disfavour.
I spent the first part of February doing my best to ensure they spent as much time together as possible through some strategic manoeuvring (a thankless task if there ever was one).
I sought resolution, so I wanted them to either fall in love, or grow to despise each other like Elizabeth and Mr Darcy.
I also (for obvious reasons) listened discreetly to his conversations with his comrades to ensure that he was not another Wickham or Carter.
I even listened to the chatter at Longbourn to ascertain that the lady who was making love to reciprocated the feeling and was not simply trying to escape her mother (as any rational creature would).
By the last week of February, I had endured about as much mooneyes as I could bear, and besides that, Longbourn’s matriarch was becoming nigh on unbearable.
My solution was mild (by my admittedly extreme standards), but efficacious enough.
At a dinner party at Stoke, the matter became almost too easy.
A couple of miswritten notes, and a few words whispered in the right ears, resulted in a situation where the couple was probably making calf-eyes at each other, but they were wasted since they were locked together in a pitch-dark closet.
I gave them enough time to ensure hair would be dishevelled, lips red, and so forth—then eventually sent Lady Lucas to discover their whereabouts and spread the news.
The uproar was such that I had to block my ear, double block my ear, and finally retreat to a quiet corner of the house. It is difficult to describe the abuse my poor hearing received before I retreated, so I will not attempt it. I simply endured and then returned home.
Back in my bed I fell easily into the dreamless sleep of the just with one last thought:
? Kitty is safe!