Chapter Eight #3
Elizabeth wore a long-sleeved gown, one of her newer, finer frocks, and had tucked the vinaigrette de toilette up inside one of the sleeves, which she held close to herself as she moved across the room. She greeted the two ladies on the sofa, and was relieved when they invited her to sit with them.
“I fear I have been monopolizing the company of your charming niece, Lady Susan,” Elizabeth said as she sat down beside her.
And then she began her performance. She flinched as if she had leaned back against something uncomfortable, and brought her arm down into the cushion of the sofa, discretely slipping the silver object out of her sleeve.
“Is something the matter, Miss Bennet?”
“I have sat on something!” And then Elizabeth pretended to discover the source of her discomfort, and displayed the vinaigrette de toilette to the two women. “Does this belong to you?”
Lady Susan and Miss Denham shook their heads, and Elizabeth quickly pocketed the item again, affecting nonchalance. “Oh, well. How odd.”
Across the room, Mrs. Rushworth had leaned over a little to look past the preening baronet and observe what Elizabeth was about; she gave a knowing look, and the barest of smiles, as if she understood.
Elizabeth found she could converse easily enough with Lady Susan, despite her reservations about the lady’s character.
It would have been odd for Elizabeth to abandon her so swiftly, and so she resumed her previous topic.
“I hope you do not think me greedy, for I already have my two new sisters to become acquainted with, but Miss Woodhouse has also been very agreeable company under our strange circumstances.”
Lady Susan nodded. “Of course you young people wish to carry on together. Aside from Mr. Tilney, I suppose none of you have any particular reason to be distressed by the demise of the general and the captain, and that other fellow. That our host can make merry is odd, but so is everything else.” She gestured broadly at their surroundings.
Miss Denham sniffed. “I wonder that you can justify Miss, ah, Gardiner treating the scene of so many murders as a social occasion.”
“It is still Bennet,” Elizabeth corrected the petulant creature. But if these ladies believed that was all Elizabeth had occupied herself with, so much the better. Thinking it perfectly reasonable that she might move away from them at such a moment, she did just that.
She next approached the gentlemen speaking with Mr. Darcy – Mr. Rushworth, Mr. Bertram, and Mr. Parker. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I just recollected that we meant to ask after that little trinket we found on tour of the castle this morning.”
She angled her body so that the ladies she already questioned could not see what she was about, and produced the silver object from her pocket once more.
“We found it on the ground in the third floor corridor, which Mr. Tilney said is near to the bachelor’s wing.
The craftsmanship is very fine, and I had thought it perhaps a sentimental token somebody dropped. ”
Mr. Darcy offered her a small smile of approbation as the gentlemen gave the little silver tree a cursory glance. They all answered in the negative, though Mr. Rushworth kindly commended her honesty in wishing to return such a fine little treasure.
“Perhaps Willoughby; I hear he likes the ladies as much as his uncle,” Mr. Parker said wryly.
“I cannot think it is Crawford’s,” Mr. Rushworth chuckled. “If he had some token from a fair lady, and did not confide the details to me, I should be dismally disappointed!”
Mr. Darcy coughed and Elizabeth forced a polite smile.
Fortunately, dinner was called, and Elizabeth allowed Mr. Darcy to lead her into the dining room.
Mr. Tilney had arranged the table much differently this evening.
He had mixed the place cards up and set them out at random, with the intention that those amongst their inner circle might speak more with the rest of their party, and perhaps glean some useful information.
It seemed that Elizabeth would be of very little use in that aspect, when she saw her placement near the far end of the table.
At the head of the table, Mr. Tilney’s allegedly arbitrary seating arrangement had still secured him the company of Cathy at his side; Elizabeth wondered if it was any less coincidental that she and Mr. Darcy were seated at the end of the table together.
Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford sat across from them, though they looked rather uncomfortable, with Mr. Rushworth on Elizabeth’s other side.
She might have felt awkward with the woman she had spoken with so confidentially, earlier that day, but a large pot of flowers partially concealed the lovers opposite her.
The result of all this was that Elizabeth spoke chiefly with Mr. Darcy over the course of her meal, and did little for their purpose of subtle interrogation. It was pleasant, miraculous even, that her mind could have any respite at all in forgetting the whole sordid business for an hour.
At first, the topic of the Bingleys was the safest subject Elizabeth could think of to please them both, but as they shared in their delight over her sister’s happiness with his friend, it began to feel more natural to laugh with him at the antics of her sisters and Charles’ attempts to manage her boisterous family.
Though his confession that morning, and his subsequent advice to her, had done a fair deal to smooth over her former dislike of the man, she could not imagine that any discoveries about herself had raised her in his esteem.
Perhaps it was merely that they were stuck with one another, and sensible enough to make the most of it.
At length, Mrs. Rushworth seemed to grow uncomfortable with the conversation of her lover, with her husband seated so near, and she pushed aside the flowers to speak with them.
“I shall make no secret of my eavesdropping,” she said, and then dropped her voice low, “unlike a certain person this morning.”
Elizabeth smirked at her. “Have you some profound opinion to contribute on the subject of sisters and in-laws?”
Mrs. Rushworth’s eyes sparkled. “Having been lately married myself, I find myself well pleased that my home is not too near the family estate where I grew up.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth. “I think you would not wish to be settled so near to Longbourn, Miss Bennet.”
“No indeed; my sisters and Mamma treat Netherfield as if they have lived there all their lives! They are fortunate that Mr. Bingley finds their company an improvement over that of his own sisters, and understands that one will often drive away the other.”
“I shall keep my sister Mary near me, if I wed before she does,” Mr. Crawford said to Mrs. Rushworth. “I am confident in her ability to drive away any neighbors or relations who visit too frequently, unless they uncover her weakness for having her performance at the harp complimented to excess.”
Mrs. Rushworth bristled at this, sipped at her wine, then turned to Mr. Darcy. “Have you any sisters, sir? Are they quite clamoring to welcome the future Mrs. Darcy to Pemberley? I always imagined that if Tom married before me, I would have to test the mettle of his lady.”
Elizabeth felt strangely fidgety at Mrs. Rushworth’s bold question, and that glance of insinuation at herself which had accompanied it. If Mr. Darcy thought the woman impertinent, he concealed his feelings admirably, for his response was perfectly tranquil.
“I have lately come to believe my sister would welcome any female companionship at Pemberley, though she is at an age where she is learning to exercise discernment in any new acquaintance.”
“What age is she? Ah, seventeen,” Mrs. Rushworth laughed. “A girl might do anything at such an age. Is she terribly contrary?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Darcy said, his posture stiffening with affront. “She is rather shy, but eager to please and be pleased.”
“Not unlike my brother Bingley,” Elizabeth suggested, hoping the turn of subject might put him back at ease.
“And the future Mrs. Darcy is sure to be a lady who will naturally inspire her affection and admiration, whose company she will enjoy, and who can set a fine example for her in the running of the household,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth was sure Mrs. Rushworth meant to needle her, for she said to Mr. Darcy, “I suppose you comprehend a great deal in such a role as mistress of Pemberley. We toured the house once years ago, on our way to visit the Lake District. It is one of the grandest homes I have ever seen.”
Elizabeth was determined to thwart whatever mischief Mrs. Rushworth meant by this turn of conversation. “Mr. Darcy, I am reminded of a conversation we had at Netherfield a year ago, when you comprehended a great deal in the notion of an accomplished woman.”
He gave her a sly grin. “Then I suppose you think rather like Miss Bingley, for she, too, saw such a correlation.”
She sputtered with laughter at how Miss Bingley had sought to recommend herself to Mr. Darcy. “Abominable reply, sir, that will not do!”
Mr. Darcy smiled indulgently, but it was Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford he addressed with mischief in his eyes.
“Miss Bennet and I have ever been in the habit of vexing one another for sport, knowing ourselves to be the cleverest of our company at the time we met. When I responded to Miss Bingley’s rather haughty definition of accomplishment by suggesting that extensive reading was the finest accolade of all, I thought Miss Bennet would cast her book into the fire at once. ”
Elizabeth stared at him in amazement. She never imagined that was how he had interpreted her determination to quarrel with him, which had been borne chiefly from her wrath after his insult, and the late Mr. Wickham’s horrid lies.
But he grinned at her now as if it had been a great amusement they had shared.