Chapter 6 #2
Elizabeth and Jane were alone at last. They went to deliver coffee and tea and Mrs. Bennet’s pride for the evening – her signature cake.
Jane was the first to speak. “You were very quiet this evening,” she said gently. “Not unhappy, I hope?”
Elizabeth smiled, but it was not her usual one. “No. Only… busy in my own head.”
Jane hesitated, then said, “I spoke to Mr. Bingley again.”
Elizabeth looked up at once. “Did you?”
“Yes. He found me as soon as they rejoined.”
“Oh, Jane. He must like you very much.”
“He did compliment me.”
“I am sure he did. He quite forgot that I was sitting on his other side at dinner, but I endured his distraction as I knew it gave you much pleasure.”
“Oh, Lizzy.” She not uncommonly reddened. “Anyway, that is not what I wanted to talk about. We spoke of the officers.” She paused. “And of Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth did not lean forward this time, nor did she laugh. She sat down on the bench in the back hall. She only said, “And?”
Jane sat next to her and folded her hands in her lap. “He does not know the whole of their history, of course. Mr. Bingley is quite frank about that. But he is convinced that Mr. Darcy has not acted without reason, and that Mr. Wickham’s conduct has not always been… prudent.”
Elizabeth frowned. “That is very vague.”
“I know,” Jane said quickly. “And he was careful not to repeat anything that was not his own knowledge. He believed the provision in the will was conditional only. Prudence – or something like it – is, I believe, expected of a clergyman.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands.
“That is not what he led me to believe… or not what I understood him to mean,” she said slowly.
Jane watched her sister’s face. “You are not surprised.”
“I am,” Elizabeth replied. “Just not in the way I expected.” She gave a short, humourless breath. “It is only that… certain things no longer sit quite as they did.”
Jane said nothing.
After a moment, Elizabeth added, “He told me Mr. Darcy wronged him grievously. He told me he had been deprived of a profession, of a future, of every chance – and I believed him… or, at least, I did not question him as I might have done. And yet tonight…” She broke off, then shook her head. “No. I do not mean to rehearse it all.”
“You need not,” Jane said softly.
Elizabeth looked up again. “Jane, did you speak of Mr. Darcy’s sister?”
Jane nodded. “Yes. I asked after her.”
“Thank you. And?”
“He spoke of her with great affection,” Jane said. “He said she is very young, very shy, and much attached to her brother. He believes she is happier away from large company. He extended the invitation to her to join them at Netherfield, but she declined.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment.
“That is not how Mr. Wickham described her,” she said at last.
“No.”
“She was not proud? Not disdainful? Not severe?”
Jane shook her head. “No. Mr. Bingley said quite the opposite.”
Elizabeth leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I was so looking forward to the ball! Ugh,” she exclaimed. So, that is two things.”
Jane glanced at her. “Two?”
“Two things he was very certain of,” Elizabeth replied. “And very wrong about.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Why did I even bother to find these things out, if I was so ready to believe what pleased me first?”
Jane reached for her hand. “Lizzy…”
“No,” Elizabeth interrupted, though not unkindly.
“I do not mean that I regret knowing. I regret how readily I was satisfied… as if I had been content with the first account just because it suited me.” She opened her eyes again.
“I wanted Mr. Darcy to be unjust – or at least, I had been very ready to believe it. It made everything simpler.” She looked away.
“Why would a man speak of a young lady in such terms if it were not true? What could his motive be?”
“Oh, I did not even think of that! Indeed, why? I am sure, Mr. Bingley spoke only as he understood it.” Jane smiled. “You are clever, you will discover the truth.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “You always say things like that.”
“And you always prove them.”
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “Do not be too charitable. I may yet be wrong again.” She paused, then added more quietly, “But I begin to think I should have listened more – and admired less.”
Jane said nothing, but her expression was thoughtful.
Elizabeth stood at last. “Come,” she said. “If I am to change my opinions, I should at least do so after a night’s sleep.”
She paused at the door and glanced back. “And Jane?”
“Yes?”
“Do not tell Mr. Bingley any of this.”
Jane smiled. “I had not intended to.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Good. I would rather be wrong privately.”
***
The two of them set out to serve the guests. Elizabeth had insisted upon remaining. She suggested that Jane leave her to it.
Jane, though reluctant, yielded at last when Elizabeth pressed the tray into her hands and said, with a softness meant to reassure, “Go. Mama will have you seated before the cake is properly admired, and Mr. Bingley will think himself dismissed if you linger here.”
Jane smiled, hesitated only a moment longer, and obeyed.
Elizabeth remained near the sideboard with the footman, directing the distribution with practised ease.
The seed cake had been set out at the centre, its surface neatly scored, surrounded by small dishes of preserved cherries, thin slices of orange peel, and a little dish of fresh butter – indulgences her mother reserved for occasions she meant to be remembered.
Elizabeth cut with care, her hand steady, her expression composed, offering each plate with the same quiet civility, though her attention was keener than her manner suggested.
Mr. Wickham approached first.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, with his usual readiness, “I ought to congratulate you. Few young ladies preside with such grace. One might almost suppose you delight in the office.”
Elizabeth placed a plate before him. “Delight is not required. Only accuracy.”
He laughed softly. “Ever exact. Still, I admire how naturally it suits you.”
“I find that useful tasks leave little room for admiration,” she replied, adding a spoon without looking at him.
His smile wavered – almost imperceptibly. “You are severe this evening,” he said lightly. “Have I offended you without knowing it?”
Elizabeth met his eye then, calmly. “I am only occupied, or I choose to be.”
Wickham bowed and withdrew, his ease restored only in appearance.
Darcy, from where he stood, observed the exchange without appearing to do so. He noticed it at once – the reserve, the measured civility – and wondered at its cause. He did not presume to guess it, though the impulse to do so was strong.
Mr. Collins followed at once, as though summoned by the vacancy.
“My dear cousin,” he said solemnly, “Lady Catherine herself has often remarked that a young lady’s conduct at table reflects the greatest credit upon her upbringing. Your manner of serving is most exemplary.”
Elizabeth smiled politely and handed him a slice. “I am glad it meets with approval.”
“I trust,” he continued, “that the exertion is not too great. Such attentions are most becoming.”
“I find it quite manageable,” she replied, and turned away before he could add more.
When she looked up again, Mr. Darcy stood before her.
She did not start, though she had not seen him approach.
“Coffee or tea?” she asked, reaching for the pot.
“Coffee, if you please.”
She poured, then added a slice of cake to his plate – and, after a moment’s consideration, placed beside it a small spoonful of preserved cherries.
“For balance,” she said lightly.
Darcy glanced at the plate, then at her. “I thank you. I had not known the cake required such assistance.”
“It does not,” Elizabeth replied. “But some things are improved by contrast.”
His mouth curved, faintly. “I shall take that under advisement.”
She handed him the cup. “Do. My mother would insist upon it.”
There was a pause – brief, deliberate.
“You have relieved your sister very efficiently,” Darcy said. “Though I suspect she was not eager to be relieved.”
Elizabeth adjusted the edge of the tray. “Jane prefers conversation. I prefer knowing where everyone is.”
“Then you have chosen the more demanding post.”
“Someone must.”
He watched her hands as she served another plate, then said quietly, “You need not remain here much longer. The room is well supplied.”
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. “Are you dismissing me, sir?”
“No,” he answered at once. “Advising you.”
“And why should I accept your advice?”
“Because,” he said, after a moment, “you have done enough – and because it would be a pity if your kindness were mistaken for obligation.”
Elizabeth studied him, her expression thoughtful.
“I will consider it,” she said, and then, with a slight smile, added, “Would you like more cake, Mr. Darcy?”
He hesitated.
“Very well,” he said. “But only a little.”
She obliged him – and gave him slightly more than he had asked for.
“For good measure,” she said.
Darcy looked at the plate, then back at her. “You are generous.”
“You may consider it an apology for… dinner,” Elizabeth replied.
He inclined his head. “You mean that you had moved my name card?”
She reddened.
“Your father said you engage in such things sometimes.”
“Childish, I know, but we ladies must have our small entertainments.”
She turned to serve another guest, and when she looked back, Darcy had stepped away – not hurriedly, not reluctant – but with an expression that suggested he was still wondering about her deliberate faux pas. Why she had felt obliged to confess, she could not have said.
Elizabeth stood a moment longer by the table, the tray lighter in her hands, her thoughts considerably less so.
She glanced around the room.
Charm, she reflected, had ceased to satisfy her.
Civility, offered without ornament and received without expectation, was proving far more disquieting than she liked.