TEN
Longbourn.
Elizabeth
“ A letter from Netherfield?” Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together as Hill handed it to Jane. “It must be from Mr. Bingley.”
“Did he mention when they are to dine here? I heard the whole household visited the Lucases some days ago,” Lydia demanded immediately.
“It is from Miss Bingley, Mama,” said Jane, breaking the seal.
“Miss Bingley.” Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm moderated only slightly. “Well. She writes on her brother’s behalf, no doubt. What does she say?”
The family was at breakfast. Mr. Collins was devoting so much attention to his toast that, for once, he left the rest of the table in relative silence.
Elizabeth observed with considerable relief that he had not yet renewed his addresses.
She suspected he was allowing the disappointment of yesterday to recover some portion of its dignity before attempting the matter again.
Whatever his reasoning, she was grateful for the reprieve
Jane read the letter quietly, her expression scarcely altering as she reached the end.
“She writes,” said Jane, setting the letter down with a small smile, “to invite me to Netherfield for the day. She says that she and Mrs. Hurst are to be alone, as the gentlemen are to dine with the officers at Colonel Forster’s, and they would be very glad of my company and hope to become better acquainted with me. ”
“Well, of course they asked Jane,” said Lydia, as though nothing else could reasonably have occurred.
“She is the only one they like, I suppose,” Kitty agreed.
The gentlemen.
While her youngest sisters squabbled over which of the Bingley sisters was the more eager for Jane’s company, Elizabeth turned the phrase over briefly.
That would mean Mr. Bingley, Mr. Hurst, and presumably Mr. Darcy as well.
She found herself wondering whether Darcy had accompanied them at all.
A regimental dinner required conversation, civility, and sustained company, none of which appeared particularly suited to a man determined to remain apart whenever possible.
Despite everything Mr. Wickham had said, Elizabeth still found her thoughts returning to Darcy at odd moments. He remained curiously difficult to understand, and the more she heard of him, the less easily she found herself able to settle upon a final opinion.
She set the thought aside.
“There,” said Mrs. Bennet with great satisfaction. “Did I not say so? The sisters are very fond of you, Jane. Very fond indeed. It is exactly what I expected.”
“It is very kind of them,” said Jane.
“It is more than kind. It is an excellent sign.” Mrs. Bennet refilled Jane’s cup without waiting to be asked. “You must go the moment you finish your meal.”
Jane’s brows rose slightly. “I had thought to wait and see whether the weather—”
“The weather is perfectly fine,” said Mrs. Bennet with complete certainty, though she had not once looked out the window.
Elizabeth had looked out the window already. The sky to the west was heavy and undecided, and the flat grey light in it usually meant rain before noon.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, “the sky is rather dark.”
Mrs. Bennet merely waved her hand. “A little cloud never hurt anybody.”
“Unless one is caught beneath it,” Mary observed quietly.
“Jane has not been entirely herself,” said Elizabeth. “She complained of aches only three days ago.”
Jane looked toward her quietly. “That was three days ago. I am perfectly well now.”
“You may feel quite well now, but you will not if you are caught in the rain.” Elizabeth turned toward her more fully. “I would rather you not expose yourself unnecessarily.”
“I understand your concern, Lizzy, but I am quite well.”
“Then at least take the carriage,” said Elizabeth. “Surely it may be spared for the morning.”
“The carriage cannot be spared,” said Mr. Bennet, not unkindly. “The horses are all in use on the farm today. There is only the one left and she is not fit for the carriage.”
“Then Jane should not go at all,” said Elizabeth. “Not on horseback with a sky like that.”
“She can go on horseback,” said Mrs. Bennet, entirely unmoved. “The exercise will do her good. And if the sky does look a little grey, well, perhaps it will clear before she reaches Netherfield.”
“And if it does not clear?” said Elizabeth.
“Then she will be obliged to stay the night at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet, her satisfaction so entirely unhidden that even Mr. Collins paused over his toast.
Kitty lowered her head quickly to hide a smile.
Elizabeth looked at her mother.
Mrs. Bennet appeared entirely untroubled.
“Jane,” said Elizabeth, concern in her voice.
“I shall be perfectly well,” said Jane, folding the letter. “It is only a little weather, and I will be back before evening.”
She said it gently, but Elizabeth knew at once that further argument would achieve nothing. Jane had decided to go and the matter was settled.
Elizabeth looked out the window again. The sky to the west was considerably darker than it had been ten minutes earlier.
Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “The ways of Providence,” he said to nobody in particular, “are not always immediately apparent to us.”
“I agree, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet. “Though the ways of the weather are rather more legible.”
Jane rose from the table to go and dress for the ride, and Elizabeth watched her leave and said nothing further, though she continued to hope she was mistaken about the weather.
* * *
25th October 1811
Elizabeth was not mistaken about the weather.
The rain began within an hour of Jane’s departure, driving steadily across the fields from the west. Elizabeth stood more than once at the parlour window watching it descend and hoping, without much confidence, that Jane had reached Netherfield before the worst of it arrived.
She did not say so aloud. There was nobody in the room to whom she particularly wished to say it.
When Jane did not return that evening, nobody appeared especially surprised.
Mrs. Bennet received the intelligence of her remaining at Netherfield with the satisfied composure of a woman whose expectations had arranged themselves very happily indeed, and retired to bed in excellent spirits.
Elizabeth retired with considerably fewer.
She had scarcely reached the foot of the stairs the following morning when Hill entered with a letter. The family were already assembled at breakfast.
Elizabeth recognised Jane’s hand immediately. The mere fact of the letter’s arrival told her something was wrong.
She broke the seal where she stood and read aloud.
“My dearest Lizzy,
You were right. I am afraid I have not escaped yesterday’s rain so well as I hoped.
I woke this morning with a severe headache, and Miss Bingley insists that I am feverish besides, though I still believe it to be only a slight indisposition.
They will not permit me to leave Netherfield at present and have sent for Mr. Jones, entirely against my own wishes, so you must not be alarmed if you hear of it.
My friends are exceedingly attentive, and I want for nothing. I hope I shall soon be well enough to return home.
Do not be uneasy for me.
Your affectionate sister,
Jane.”
Elizabeth lowered the letter.
“I told you,” She said, looking directly at her mother.
“She says she is not seriously ill,” said Mrs. Bennet, reaching immediately for the letter.
“She says not to be uneasy,” replied Elizabeth. “Which, from Jane, signifies very little. She would apologise for alarming us while burning with a fever.”
“Well,” said Mr. Bennet, “your mother’s scheme has at least succeeded beyond expectation. She wished Jane to remain at Netherfield and now she appears likely to remain there under medical supervision.”
“Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet indignantly, “you talk as though I sent the storm myself.”
“I merely observe,” said Mr. Bennet, “that nature appears remarkably willing to cooperate with your plans.”
The girls, with the exception of Elizabeth, laughed at once. Mr. Collins appeared on the verge of doing the same before recovering himself with visible haste.
“I shall go to her,” said Elizabeth.
“How?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “It rained all night. The roads will be nothing but mud, and the horses are wanted on the farm today more than ever.”
“More than yesterday, I imagine,” said Mr. Bennet, with mild concern. “The lower field will require attention after such rain. I doubt I can spare even one horse.”
“Poor Jane,” said Kitty softly.
“She ought to have taken the carriage,” said Lydia.
“Then I shall walk,” said Elizabeth, turning from her sisters to her parents.
The declaration produced a moment’s silence around the table.
“Walk?” repeated Mrs. Bennet.
“It is only three miles,” said Elizabeth. “I have walked farther.”
“Not through mud. Not after a night of rain. You will arrive at Netherfield in such a state that Mr. Bingley sisters will think we were all brought up in a barn.”
“Their opinion is not my principal concern at present,” said Elizabeth. “Jane is ill, and I mean to go to her.”
Mr. Collins, who had thus far appeared chiefly anxious for his breakfast to proceed uninterrupted, now looked up with solemn concern.
“If I may speak, cousin,” said he, “your mother’s concerns are by no means unfounded.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh has often observed that young ladies who expose themselves unnecessarily to the inclemencies of the weather place both their health and constitution at considerable hazard.
Her ladyship is firmly of the opinion that no female of true refinement ought to traverse any significant distance on foot when a carriage or other suitable conveyance may be procured. ”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth.
“Indeed,” continued he, encouraged rather than checked, “Lady Catherine has more than once remarked upon the impropriety of ladies adopting habits more suitable to the lower orders—”
“Mr. Collins,” interrupted Mr. Bennet pleasantly, “I believe we are sufficiently acquainted with your patroness’s views on the subject.”
Mr. Collins stopped at once and bowed over his plate.
“There is certainly something admirable,” said Mary, “in the willingness to endure discomfort for the sake of family affection.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Thank you, Mary.”
“Lizzy,” resumed Mrs. Bennet, adopting a more persuasive tone, “you cannot seriously mean to walk to Netherfield in this weather. Your clothes will be muddy before you arrive. What will Mr. Bingley think? His sisters, and even that Mr. Darcy?”
“They will think,” said Elizabeth, “that I came to see my sister who is ill.”
“It is not proper.”
“It will nevertheless be done.”
“I will go with you,” said Kitty at once.
“You will do no such thing,” Mrs. Bennet declared with sudden firmness.
“I shall not have my daughters tramping about the countryside in such weather. If Lizzy chooses to make herself wretched for the sake of her own stubbornness, that is entirely her affair, but I will not encourage the rest of you to follow her example.”
Then, rounding at once upon her husband, she exclaimed, “Mr. Bennet, have you nothing to say to your daughter?”
Mr. Bennet regarded Elizabeth for a moment with quiet affection. He had already, she thought, decided the matter entirely in her favour.
“I believe,” said he at last, “that when Lizzy forms a resolution of this sort, opposition becomes chiefly ornamental. Since Jane is ill and the horses cannot be spared, I do not see that I can reasonably object to the only remaining method of reaching Netherfield.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Take your stoutest boots.”
“I intended to,” said Elizabeth. “I shall be back before evening.”
She rose from the table, excused herself, and went upstairs to change her shoes.
As she left the room, she could still hear her mother lamenting loudly that she was surrounded by people determined to behave unlike any respectable family in Hertfordshire, that Jane’s illness had nothing whatsoever to do with her own planning, and that walking three miles through mud was the sort of conduct one expected in families who kept no carriage at all.
Kitty hoped aloud that Jane had at least seen Mr. Bingley before becoming ill.
Elizabeth laced her boots, wrapped her pelisse closely against the October morning, and set out for Netherfield through the mud and rain.