Chapter 20
Interrupted Certainties
On Wednesday, at about one o’clock, Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield.
His journey from London had been made with more haste than comfort, and though his spirits were naturally inclined to cheerfulness, there was in his manner, upon entering the house, a degree of thoughtfulness not usually observed in him.
He had expected a warmer reception.
Darcy was not there; nor were his sisters immediately to be found. He was left alone for several minutes before they joined him.
“Charles!” cried Miss Bingley, entering with animation. “At last, you are returned.”
“I am,” he replied, smiling. “And very glad to be so.”
Mrs. Hurst welcomed him with composed civility, but Caroline remained standing, her attention fixed upon him.
“You have been much engaged in town, I suppose,” she said.
“I had some business to conclude.”
She exchanged a glance with her sister.
“Charles, pray sit down. Louisa and I wish to speak with you.”
He laughed lightly. “That sounds serious. Is anything amiss?”
“Nothing – if it is properly understood in time.”
He sat, though with some curiosity.
“We think it best,” Caroline continued, “that we should return to town… and that you should accompany us.”
Bingley looked at her in surprise. “Return? But why? Are we not very comfortably settled here? And where is Darcy? Does he think the same?”
“Mr. Darcy is not our concern at present.”
“He is out,” said Mrs. Hurst. “He will return later.”
“To be perfectly candid,” Caroline went on, “we would have followed you to town ourselves, had we not been persuaded to remain a little longer.”
“But why should you wish to leave at all?” Bingley asked. “I see nothing here to make us dissatisfied.”
Caroline paused, then said more deliberately, “Because, Charles, you have been placing yourself in a situation which cannot be continued without consequence.”
Bingley looked at her, surprised. “You have noticed.”
“Of course we have. And so, I assure you, has everyone else.”
Mrs. Hurst added, more gently, “We speak only from concern, Charles.”
“For what?” he asked, still good-humoured, though less at ease.
“For your happiness,” said Caroline. “And for your prudence.”
Bingley’s smile faded slightly. “I do not know that the two are at variance.”
“They may be,” she returned, “when one is too easily satisfied.”
He regarded her more steadily now. “You speak in riddles.”
“Then I shall be plain.” She drew nearer. “Before you left Hertfordshire, your attentions were… very particular.”
Bingley coloured faintly. “I admire Miss Bennet. I do not deny it. She is a very pleasant young woman.”
There was a brief pause.
“But she is pleasant to everyone.”
The words, lightly spoken, did not at once strike.
Bingley hesitated. “She is… naturally amiable.”
“Exactly so. Amiable. Gentle. Always the same.” Caroline’s tone softened – almost persuasive now. “Tell me, Charles… how are you to distinguish?”
He frowned slightly. “Distinguish what?”
“Whether her regard for you is of any particular nature.”
Mrs. Hurst added, more quietly, “Jane Bennet would never encourage a man improperly, but neither would she discourage him.”
Caroline continued, watching him closely. “She smiles, she listens, she receives attention with perfect sweetness. What if she is instructed by her mother?” She paused, then added with delicate emphasis, “You have seen her.”
Bingley said nothing.
The doubt had found its place.
“You may admire her,” Caroline went on, “but admiration is not enough to secure happiness. You must be certain – quite certain – that she returns your feelings. She can offer little beyond it.”
“I believed…” he began, then stopped.
“Believed?” Caroline repeated gently.
He turned away a little. “I thought her partial to me.”
“She may be,” said Caroline. “In her way.”
“In her way?”
“A very general way.”
Silence fell.
Caroline saw that she had struck home and pressed further. “And then there is another consideration.”
Bingley looked up again.
“You must think of your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Yes. Your house, your establishment, your place in society. What our parents intended for you?”
Mrs. Hurst nodded slightly. “One must consider expectations.”
Caroline continued, “You will be expected to move in a wider circle – to receive – to host – to be observed.” She paused. “Can Miss Bennet do this?”
Bingley’s expression altered again – uncertainty deepening.
“She has never been in London,” Caroline went on. “She has had no season – no experience of society beyond a small neighbourhood.”
“She may learn,” he said, though without full conviction.
“Perhaps. But will she wish to? Will she be equal to it? Or will she shrink from it – and leave you exposed to every observation?”
Bingley was silent.
Caroline lowered her voice. “You are on the brink of engaging yourself for life.”
He drew a breath.
“And if you are mistaken – if she does not feel for you what you suppose – what then?”
He did not answer. For a moment, his usual openness seemed entirely subdued.
“I would not see you unhappy,” she added more softly. “Nor bound where you are not truly valued. It would be better,” she concluded, “in every respect, to leave.”
The door opened. Darcy entered. He paused, taking in the scene at a glance.
“Bingley.”
Bingley turned to him quickly – almost with relief. “Darcy, you are come in good time.”
Darcy’s gaze moved briefly to the sisters, then returned to his friend. “I hope I do not interrupt.”
“On the contrary,” said Bingley. “I should be glad of your opinion.”
Caroline’s composure tightened.
Darcy remained still. “On what subject?”
Bingley hesitated.
“I have been told,” he said slowly, “that I may have mistaken… appearances.”
Darcy did not immediately answer.
“That I may not have sufficient reason,” Bingley continued, “to suppose myself… particularly regarded.”
A brief silence followed.
Darcy spoke at last. “When you left, you were not so uncertain. So much so, you wanted me to let her know that you would be delayed.”
Bingley looked at him, uncertain, troubled.
“What has altered since then?”
Bingley drew a breath. “I do not know what to think.”
Darcy regarded him steadily.
“Then you must determine what weight you give to your own judgement.”
Caroline stepped forward. “Mr. Darcy, you cannot mean…”
He did not look at her.
“If you admire Miss Bennet,” he said to Bingley, “and believe her deserving of your regard, there can be nothing improper in showing it.”
“And if I am mistaken?” Bingley asked.
“Then you will have been mistaken on your own judgement.”
Caroline’s composure faltered. “This is extremely imprudent. You cannot listen to him. He is lost. He is partial to Miss Eliza, and he is determined to throw himself away.”
Bingley leant forward. “You what? Is this true, Darcy?”
Darcy shook his head as he looked at Caroline. “Yes.” He paused. “I am courting Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Bingley stared. “You are?”
Darcy met his look calmly. “I am.”
“How did this happen? I remember you saying she was not handsome enough for you to dance with her.”
“Circumstances,” Darcy replied, “are sometimes better understood upon closer acquaintance.”
“Charles,” she said quickly, recovering, “you see now how matters stand. We must leave. Nothing good can come from remaining here.”
Bingley frowned. “Caroline, can you hear yourself? Netherfield has every advantage I can desire. It is well situated, the land is good, the neighbourhood is agreeable…”
“You forget Miss Bennet.”
“I do not.”
Her tone sharpened. “She has turned your head. You are not yourself.”
“I believe,” he said more firmly, “that I am entirely myself.”
Darcy added, with quiet steadiness, “The advantages of the place are undeniable. It requires only a man willing to value them.”
Caroline gave a short, restless movement. “And Miss Bennet? What is she to be valued for?”
Darcy answered, without hesitation, “She is a gentleman’s daughter. She possesses a temper which would recommend her in any society. And she is…” He paused very slightly. “Worthy of being valued.”
“And if Darcy is successful, he would marry Darcy’s wife’s sister. I say that sounds like a good connection.” Hurst said as he walked into the room.
“Mr. Hurst!” the sisters exclaimed.
“I never thought you would find a lady to your taste,” he continued, settling himself.
“Darcy courting… I am still amazed.” Bingley said. “Mind you, you never found any of the ladies in town to show an interest in.”
“Yes, yes, we are all in wonder. This is about you, Charles. What is to become of us if you persist in such a scheme? You will make yourself – and all connected with you – a subject of ridicule.”
Bingley looked at Caroline steadily.
“I think,” he said, “that I shall take my chance.”
Caroline rose. “I wish you joy of your discernment, Charles. It is a pity it could not be exercised in a more suitable direction.”
Miss Bingley quit the room with all the dignity she could command. It might have been observed that her composure had suffered more in the loss of influence than she would ever have allowed in the loss of argument.
Charles and Darcy looked at one another.
For a moment, neither spoke.
“Charles, did you bring with you the things I had asked for?”
“Yes, the whole lot is in a basket. At least now I understand why.”
Darcy took out some coins.
“You do not have to pay for them.”
“I think I must. It has to come from me.”
***
After Bingley had refreshed himself, the two gentlemen withdrew to the billiard room. The best thing to do on a rainy day. The fire had been newly stirred, and the quiet of the place, removed from the agitation of the drawing-room, offered a welcome contrast.
Bingley took up a cue, though without much intention of using it.
“Well,” he said, attempting lightness, “this has been a most extraordinary return.”
Darcy did not immediately answer. He stood for a moment, as though considering how best to begin. “There is something,” he said at last, “which I think you ought to know.”