Chapter 16
Fletcher is a genius, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.
We did make a good team, if I do say so myself.
He entered my employ in my sixteenth year, having shepherded another young man quite successfully through his introduction to society.
My father enticed him away from his former charge with the promise of certain more modern, and dare I say liberal, ideas about marriage.
Whilst marriage was not unheard of for valets, it was far from common.
The man did not have even a vague hint of a sweetheart at the time, but the very idea that he might if he was fortunate was appealing.
I imagine doubling his pay did no harm either, but I would never be so crass as to suggest it.
The decision had been a godsend. The man was a decade and a half my senior, with commensurate experience.
He had watched my back for a decade, and that I managed to vex and offend the eldest Bennet sisters as only a single lunkhead can do was a testament to his skills in avoiding compromising situations at least as much as mine.
He had eventually married at the ripe old age of thirty-five to a lady of similar age with a shared abhorrence of children.
They lived a happy and contented life, which was all to the good as far as I could tell.
They both enjoyed travelling, and since I was generous enough with accommodations and rather liberal with time off, they were as good a pair as I could hope for.
Fletcher’s small deceptions redirecting the discourse in the ballroom might have triggered my dislike of disguise, but it was far from the worst act of concealment in the world.
Considering what was required to prevent gossip from escaping Ramsgate, not to mention how hard it was to round up Wickham and his gang, it was not even in my top fifty worst bits of obfuscation.
Fletcher’s plan was like a galleon, sailing forth indomitable and indestructible through any sea regardless of weather or opposition.
There was nothing more natural than repairing a lady’s gown, and nobody more suited to the task than a beloved sister.
In fact, considering Bingley’s ploy to make Mr Collins dance with all the Bennet ladies, I was astonished we did not have a seamstress setting up shop just to follow behind the man repairing clothing for all his victims. The only reason we had to falsify the tear in Miss Bennet’s gown was that both ladies had the reflexes of cats.
Likewise, having two known curmudgeons challenge each other to a game of chess was hardly novel.
As far as most of the assembly was concerned, the surprise was not that Mr Bennet and I withdrew from the ballroom, but that we had appeared in the first place.
The essence of the plan was its simplicity and adherence to plausible expectations that were close to the truth.
It was genius, and it probably would have worked had his galleon not crashed into the rocks of Mrs Bennet's and Miss Bingley's obstinance.
Mrs Bennet fired the first volley. “Lizzy Bennet, where have you been? You will be the ruin of us all and will be lucky if Mr Collins still proposes. You have no compassion on my poor nerves!”
I wanted so much to argue but was powerless for obvious reasons, but my help was unnecessary, as Elizabeth was no shrinking violet.
“No, Mama, nothing of the sort. Good Lord, you act as if we invented torn gowns. Look at this stitch, and if that is insufficient to explain our absence, does this look like my footprint?”
Miss Bingley was not to be defeated by Fletcher, and I also realised too late that she had already vested too much importance in the rumours she had crafted. She came across like George Wickham, ready to bet it all on a roll of the dice, in the full belief that the world owed her, and would pay.
“A good ruse, Miss Elizabeth, but you left the ballroom at the same time as a certain militia officer, and in the same direction, who now finds himself curiously absent. Despite your professed lack of accomplishments, an hour to repair a simple tear seems… implausible.”
“Ohhhh, we are all ruined,” Mrs Bennet wailed, though whether it was her nerves speaking or the rum-punch was difficult to ascertain. I was not sanguine with how things were going and slowly worked my way over behind Elizabeth.
“La, Lizzy, after all that time you and Jane spent lecturing us about officers,” her younger sister Lydia screamed drunkenly, which left Elizabeth and Jane flinching.
Jane entirely surprised me by speaking as calmly as you might imagine. “Lydia, that statement will stand out as one of your stupidest remarks, and that is saying something.”
Miss Lydia stuck her tongue out and punctuated the exercise by swaying and almost falling over when Miss Kitty laughed and pushed her.
Elizabeth seemed about at the end of her rope and snapped.
“As I said, my absence is easily explained—not that it is anybody’s business in the first place.
What in the world could convince you that Jane and I would deviate so far from propriety for no reason at all?
Why would either of us look twice at a penniless officer? ”
Lady Lucas, who had spent the supper hour listening to Mrs Bennet endlessly drone on about Miss Bennet’s supposed capture of Bingley, which included feigned sympathy about Miss Lucas’s supposed plainness, looked like a woman anxious for retribution.
It was easy enough to imagine she had been in competition with Mrs Bennet all her life, and equally likely that if Mrs Bennet spoke about how supposedly plain Miss Lucas was to strangers during her visit to Netherfield, I could not especially blame her.
I may have acted the same in her position, though having her vitriol aimed at Elizabeth was more than I could allow.
“I would suggest following smoke usually leads to fire. It has been long-accepted that one of the Bennet girls would succumb to impropriety. I do not accuse Miss Elizabeth, but I am not so entirely surprised, given how she was raised and the behaviour of her sisters.”
I was about to say something, but Elizabeth looked directly at me and shook her head. It took but a moment to realize the die was cast. My support would be putting out the smoky fire with lamp oil, and it would oblige her—the exact thing she was trying to avoid.
Whilst I could not say anything, the rumble of conversations consumed the ballroom, something like a fire sweeping through a wooden village. There always came a point where it simply could not be extinguished, and a glance at Fletcher showed he agreed we were rapidly approaching it.
I was not quite ready to light a backfire, but I did not doubt Fletcher had a contingency plan that would lay waste to the Bingleys.
Miss Bingley had been studiously and slyly stoking the fire from the moment she became aware the Bennet ladies were vulnerable, and she was not relenting.
She believed she could destroy the Bennets without incurring my wrath, and based on her view of the world, the idea probably seemed reasonable.
I doubt the idea that the ladies had been in a long tête-à-tête with me had ever occurred to her.
Such a possibility was so against my ordinary cautious nature she would have considered it impossible, even if she did think of it.
The conversations were like an angry swarm of wasps, and only snatches reached me here and there. The room had divided itself into those for and against my ladies, and the balance seemed to be tipping against us.
I arrived close enough to Elizabeth to speak to her without being overheard by anyone but Miss Bennet, and said, “Elizabeth… Jane… Courage. This is but one trial, and we will get through it.”
Such a sentiment was so presumptuous that the use of their Christian names was the very least offensive part, but I needed them to know of my unwavering support.
She glanced at me, and while I read her expressions better than before, it was impossible to tell if I was seeing fear, rage, or annoyance; nor could I tell if my statement comforted or distressed her.
I also noticed several ladies had separated themselves from the crowd, but I had no idea why.
I was as startled as anybody when all conversation halted with a bellow worthy of an angry blacksmith.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”
The room fell silent at once, and everyone stared at Miss Mary standing breathing heavily.
She looked frightened but resolute, and I had to admire her for it.
Miss Lucas was standing next to her, along with one of the Long nieces, and both of the Golding daughters.
Miss Lucas took Miss Mary’s hand, and the latter continued relentlessly.
“I ask again, what is wrong with you? Most of you have known Elizabeth and Jane all your lives, and yet you are willing to accept the entirely unfounded slander of a jumped-up-social-climbing-parvenu. Find me anyone who is pushing these rumours other than Miss Bingley and I shall eat my bonnet… nay, even worse, I shall eat Lydia’s ugliest! ”
Much to my surprise, most of the group laughed, and even Miss Lydia laughed and snorted.
She stared around, and said, “If you wish to call Lydia a badly-behaved hoyden, or Kitty an empty-headed flirt, or me a moralizing prude, or mother a mercenary, or my father indolent—then I should have no qualms in allowing your opinion. But Elizabeth and Jane? Seriously?”
The tide turned slightly, and I commended Miss Mary. She was doing yeoman’s work, which would be rewarded in due time.