Chapter Seven
Bingley spoke to his wife rather loudly as they passed the door of the study, no doubt to alert Darcy to their whereabouts, and he was sure that the sharp, shrewish complaints that came later—for the tone suggested they could be nothing else—belonged to Miss Bingley.
He determined to wait another quarter of an hour until he could be certain they were all seated at dinner before making his way upstairs.
He took the last drink of his brandy and set his empty glass down next to Bingley’s before extracting his watch.
Elizabeth’s sister was in this house. Perhaps that was why he detected the faintest trace of Elizabeth’s lilting voice, though he had never thought the sisters sounded alike. Darcy sighed. His mind was playing some rather cruel tricks on him of late.
When enough time had passed, Darcy stuck his head out of the study to check whether the halls were clear.
All he could see were several servants headed to the dining room with platters.
He slipped out of the study and moved towards the stairs to the guest wing.
If he was closer to running than walking, who could blame him?
Just before he dashed up the steps to his chambers, he glanced over his shoulder.
Carstairs was staring back at him, shaggy grey eyebrows lifted in amusement.
Darcy was tired of being a joke. He could not wait to get away.
Dinner arrived only a few moments after he did. He ate quickly and in peace, then looked over his scant belongings. He swung open the door of his wardrobe only to find a single nightshirt hanging there.
Well. That was disconcerting.
Scripps entered the room as Darcy stood staring at the space where his clothing ought to be.
“Your things should be back soon, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bingley suggested I have everything laundered this morning before packing it. As you did not expect to be here long and packed only that you believed you would require, I thought it a sound notion.”
Darcy was amused by this. Had it been Bingley, he would have been irritated, but he thought it might be close to impossible to be aggravated with the man’s wife.
He understood almost instinctively that because Bingley had not been much in need of Scripps for the past four days, the valet was at loose ends, and Mrs. Bingley would have seen this as a way to please her guest and placate her husband’s man at the same time.
Mentally, he calculated a generous vail for the valet, but outwardly, he simply nodded. “Very well.”
“Do you mind, sir?” Scripps asked, motioning over to the items he would use for Darcy’s morning ablutions.
“Not at all, Scripps. Carry on.”
The valet cleaned Darcy’s brushes and sharpened his razor on a leather strap.
“Scripps,” Darcy asked at last, “do you know how long Bingley’s sister intends to stay?”
The valet stopped what he was doing. “I believe the master and mistress intend to have her live with them permanently, sir,” he said a little stiffly.
Gads. That meant that if he invited Bingley and his wife to Pemberley, he would have to endure Miss Bingley as well. If only they could invite Elizabeth instead. Perhaps he could seek Bingley out at the club in London and have a conversation with him there.
“I see.”
It might have been his imagination, but Scripps seemed a bit cooler after that exchange.
Still, when his clothes arrived, he took them into another room to iron them, and returned them to the wardrobe with an exactness that Darcy could not help but admire.
Darcy’s own valet would be hard pressed to find anything wrong with Scripps’s work, though he would try.
“Scripps,” Darcy said as the valet was preparing to leave for the night, “how long have you worked for Bingley?”
“Since September, sir, when he returned to the country. His old valet did not wish to leave London again.”
“And how did he find you?”
Scripps straightened his back and looked Darcy directly in the eye. “My uncle is Mr. Gardiner’s valet. Miss Elizabeth . . . Miss Bennet, that is, knew through her relations that I was looking for a position outside of London and recommended me.”
Darcy smiled fondly. “Of course she did.” Elizabeth would have known not only that Scripps was in need of employment, but that Bingley would be in need of a very organized sort of valet.
Learning that Mr. Gardiner kept a valet did not surprise him; both he and his wife were always very well attired.
Scripps was bemused. “As you say, sir. I will be back at seven, then?”
“Yes, thank you, Scripps.”
The valet nodded and was gone.
Elizabeth placed her napkin on the table with a little sigh. Dinner had taken twice as long as it ought because Miss Bingley had criticised each dish as it came out. The soup had too little salt, the meat too much, the wine was too weak, and the bread too dry.
The meal had, in fact, been wonderful.
No one responded to Miss Bingley’s complaints other than the harried servants, but it did not keep her from continuing.
“Really, Jane,” Miss Bingley said as they rose from the table, “you shall have to speak to your cook. You cannot allow her to serve this sort of food to the family, let alone your guests. I will help you with it tomorrow.”
“I thank you for the offer, Caroline, but that will not be necessary. You are our guest.”
Miss Bingley waved a dismissive hand in the air, intentionally ignoring Jane’s meaning. “It is no trouble.”
“Caroline,” Jane repeated without raising her voice or appearing unsettled in any way, “Thank you for offering your assistance—”
Miss Bingley smirked and began to speak.
“But it is not required.” Jane met Miss Bingley’s gaze and said, seriously, “If and when there is a need to direct the staff, I shall do so.”
“My heavens,” Miss Bingley replied, her cheeks flushing with either anger or embarrassment, “there is no need to be rude. I only wish to help, and I have been mistress here, you know. It is not uncommon for servants to take advantage whenever they can.”
“That may have been your experience,” Elizabeth said with her offense barely restrained. “But Jane has known most of the Netherfield staff her entire life, and they respect her.”
“How dare you,” Miss Bingley hissed.
“I only speak the truth,” Elizabeth replied.
“Elizabeth,” Jane said warningly.
“Caroline,” Charles said sharply at the same time. He tossed his napkin on the table and took Miss Bingley aside, but as Elizabeth and Jane stood to leave, they could hear him speaking to his sister.
Mr. Bingley was less diplomatic than his wife. “You arrived without notice, Caroline, and you may feel at liberty to depart the same way. If you remain, you will be civil.”
Elizabeth was nearly floating, so happy was she to witness Jane taking her rightful role and Charles defending her right to do so.
As for Miss Bingley, she detested the woman even more for the insult of appearing only after the wedding to complain about everything.
Still, she ought not to have baited the woman.
“I am sorry, Jane,” Elizabeth said softly. “That woman vexes me, but I can see you will need none of my help dealing with her. I will do better, I promise.”
Jane patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Charles suspects she made herself unwanted with the Hursts and left to avoid being asked to leave. If that is so, her coming here makes sense. She means to establish herself as mistress in deed if not in name. I understand it is difficult for her to give way, but she must.”
“She did not even attend your wedding,” Elizabeth nearly hissed. “She has no right even to be in your house, let alone attempting to usurp your position as mistress.”
“Charles believes she did not want it to appear that she approved of the match.” Jane was far too serene. Elizabeth would have tossed the ingrate from the house, but that was not Jane’s way.
“You spoke of this?”
Jane nodded. “We were not expecting to meet Caroline or the Hursts again until the season in London, but I had already planned how to act, for I am familiar with overly bold sisters. Miss Bingley did not find me unprepared.”
“Brava, Jane.” Elizabeth smiled and held her sister’s arm a bit tighter before releasing it and offered her sister an artificially winsome smile. “I hope you do not mean me.”
“You may be bold, Lizzy, but you never cross the boundary of propriety.” Jane glanced around before leaning close to say, “Though you do dance a jig on it from time to time.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. It was true, she could not deny it.
Before they reached the drawing room, Miss Bingley swept past them and up the stairs without so much as a “good evening.” A few moments later, Charles appeared, a bit red in the face.
“My apologies, ladies,” he said. “Caroline is often a trial, but tonight she was absolutely unbearable. I hope she did not ruin dinner for you, Lizzy.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth was quick to assure him.
“Each dish was delightful. I enjoyed it immensely.” She had particularly enjoyed how each successive complaint of Miss Bingley’s had been ignored, the dishes merely removed.
It seemed the woman was not used to her utterances going unremarked upon and did not know how to respond when they did.
“Lizzy,” Jane said softly, putting a hand on Elizabeth’s arm though her eyes were on her unhappy husband, “would you mind terribly if Charles and I were to retire early?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Not at all, Jane. Perhaps I will find something to read in the library.”
“I did bring back a few new books from London,” Charles informed her. “They are on the lower shelf.”
“Why, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth teased, “are you attempting to win me over?”
Charles smiled. “You have caught me out. Good night, Lizzy.”
“I will be down for breakfast in the morning, Lizzy, and we shall spend the day together.” Jane took her husband’s arm. “Charles has several items of business to complete.”