Chapter 4
Library
Netherfield Hall
A Few Hours Later
Darcy’s eyes were on the book in his hand, but the letters and words and paragraphs blurred together on the page.
Macbeth was an old favorite, but today it could not hold his attention.
Instead, he was dwelling pleasingly on sparkling brown eyes, a slim figure, and a delicate hand laid on his arm, warm even through her gloves and his coat.
How lovely she had looked, laughing with delight as she bent to pet Maxwell.
Their conversation on the way back up to the house had been equally pleasant.
Miss Elizabeth was well read, with the intelligence to apply what she read.
She conversed as knowledgeably about sheep husbandry as she did about drawing-room topics, with a natural ease of manner that Darcy found charming.
Her laugh was clear and robust, pleasing in tone, and absurdly contagious.
Darcy shook himself. He was allowing himself to become entirely too distracted by this woman, enchanting though she was. He had always been a master of self-possession, and it was time he returned to his rigid self-discipline.
A soft footfall from the door drew his attention. He looked up, and his heart flipped within him as the subject of his guilty thoughts entered the room and cast a thoughtful gaze around her.
He rose to his feet, bowed, and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Good afternoon,” she replied, curtseying, and then continued with an overly stern look, “This library is not very impressive, is it?”
He laughed in spite of himself and said, “I fear it is rather dismal, but at least it has all of Shakespeare’s plays.”
Miss Elizabeth looked at the book in his hand and said, “You are reading…?”
“Macbeth.”
“Oh, I quite like that one. Indeed, I would say that it is my favorite Shakespearean tragedy, though I am in general not an enthusiast of his more gloomy works.”
“Oh, divine Shakespeare!” a new voice cried out, and both Darcy and Miss Elizabeth looked over as Miss Bingley wafted into the room, dressed expensively, if not warmly, in a blue silk dress.
“Such wonderful plays and sonnets, are they not, Mr. Darcy?” she simpered and then turned to her female guest and continued, “But I must confess to being quite astonished that you dislike the tragedies, Miss Eliza. I believe it is well understood that his darker plays are by far his best works.”
Darcy directed an irritable look at his hostess. He did not think that was ‘well understood’ in the least.
“Perhaps that is true,” Elizabeth said lightly, wandering over to the shelf where the rest of the Bard’s works were neatly stored.
“But I am not inclined to admire a book merely because it is lauded by others. I do like Macbeth, largely because I find Lady Macbeth and her husband a most interesting study. Most of the rest of the tragedies involve people being very tiresome. I can understand the rampant ambition of Macbeth and his wife, but Romeo and Juliet are cursed with incredibly stupid parents, Hamlet with an idiotic mother and murderous uncle, while King Lear is an arrogant fool. I far prefer the comedies because while they are often absurd, they are light enough that I can ignore the more ridiculous behavior of the characters.”
Miss Bingley now wore one of the most pretentious expressions Mr. Darcy had ever seen on her face, which was impressive in its own way.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” she trilled, “I am quite certain that if you had ever had the opportunity to see King Lear or Romeo and Juliet on stage, as I have, you would feel differently about them.”
“Perhaps,” her guest said sedately and removed one of the books of comedies from the shelf. “I hope you both will excuse me. Jane is feeling somewhat better, and I said that I would read aloud to her.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, bowing.
Caroline Bingley did not bother to curtsey, but only watched her guest depart, a sneer on her face. When Miss Elizabeth’s steps faded into the distance, she turned toward Mr. Darcy and opened her mouth…
And then closed it. Darcy had, long ago, perfected a cold stare which had intimidated even more arrogant women than Caroline Bingley, and he did his best to bend all of his considerable displeasure on his hostess.
Miss Bingley blinked, gulped, and then managed a smile. “I will see you later at dinner, Mr. Darcy.”
“Of course, Miss Bingley,” he replied with rigid courtesy.
She stared at him for a moment longer, sniffed, and then swished away. He, after a moment to calm his heart, sat back down and forced himself to read.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw…
In the midst of the powerful words, Darcy found himself thinking about what Miss Elizabeth had said. Romeo and Juliet certainly did have stupid parents!
***
Jane’s Bedchamber
Netherfield Hall
After Dinner
The Next Day
Thursday, 14th November 1811
Elizabeth tapped on the door of the room which temporarily housed Jane and peeked inside. She was pleased to see Jane sitting up in bed. She looked pale and red-nosed but also alert and smiling.
Elizabeth let herself in and asked, "Are you ready to come down and join us?"
"Yes," Jane said.
Elizabeth selected a capacious knitted wool shawl and wrapped it warmly around Jane's shoulders and neck and chest. They went down the stairs arm in arm, Jane shivering a little in the chill air of the hallway.
Elizabeth gave her sister a concerned look and hurried to open the door to the drawing room.
They were greeted with a welcome rush of warmth and the voice of their hostess.
“My dear Jane, how good to see you up,” Caroline Bingley cried out, though she did not rise. “Do sit down by the fire, my dear. I am certain you need to be appropriately warm.”
Elizabeth was entirely in agreement, of course, and guided her sister over to the open chair closest to the fire. She was glad that the inhabitants of Netherfield did not stint on firewood and that both bedchambers and main rooms had well-stocked fireplaces which drew well.
“So you are feeling better?” Mrs. Hurst asked, turning a kindly look on the eldest Miss Bennet.
“Oh, yes, I am,” Jane replied with a becoming blush. “Indeed, I hope that we will be able to return home on the morrow. I feel much better.”
Elizabeth, listening to this, heaved a soft sigh of relief.
Her time here had not been as unpleasant as it could have been, but she still wished to return home as soon as it was safe for Jane to do so.
Mr. Bingley had been very welcoming, and Mr. Darcy far more interesting than she had imagined him, but Mr. Hurst was dull and the ladies were obviously critical of her.
“I hope you will not leave before you are entirely well,” Miss Bingley said with rigid courtesy.
The door opened at this juncture to reveal the gentlemen, and Miss Bingley was on her feet in a moment, her gaze fixed on Mr. Darcy.
“It is such a cold night, Mr. Darcy. Pray do sit down!” she exclaimed.
“Thank you,” Mr. Darcy said coolly and then said to Jane, “I am glad to see you are feeling better, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you,” Jane replied.
“I am glad as well,” Mr. Hurst mumbled as he made his way over to the bottle of brandy sitting on a tray.
“Indeed, we are all delighted,” Mr. Bingley said. “I only hope you have not come down too early. Please let me add some logs to the fire…”
Elizabeth, satisfied that their host would take good care of her sister, retreated to a cooler part of the room and picked up a book resting on a side table.
It was, interestingly enough, a cookery book, and she looked from one recipe to another while listening to Miss Bingley do her very best to keep Mr. Darcy’s attention.
“I have been reading Lewis and Clark’s Expedition diaries,” that lady said in a casual tone. “So very interesting, are they not, Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy, who had been staring into the fire, turned toward his hostess and said, “I definitely agree. I am glad I brought the book with me from my London library, especially given that the library here is rather dismal.”
“Oh! I am sorry. I saw the book in the library and did not realize that it was yours. If…”
“It is quite all right, Miss Bingley. I am glad that you enjoyed it.”
“I did,” the lady gushed. “So fascinating to learn of the wilds of America!”
“It does sound interesting,” Elizabeth remarked. “Is it actually journal entries, or…”
“It is,” Mr. Darcy said with a nod. “Lewis and Clark, as you may know, were joint leaders of an expedition which took place between…”
He turned a questioning look on Miss Bingley and said, “Do you remember the exact years?”
She blinked in surprise and said, “Erm, no, though I think it was quite recent?”
“Yes. 1804 through 1806 perhaps? Or 1805 through 1807? At any rate, the expedition traveled from the middle of the vast continent of America to the Pacific Ocean, and then back again. The two men kept detailed journals of their observations, of landscapes and flora and fauna.”
Elizabeth set down the cookery book and leaned back in her chair. “I confess that while I know the American continent to be enormous, I cannot truly imagine it. When I look at a globe, Britain looks so very tiny compared to China, and Africa, and, yes, America.”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said. “When I think that it is only about one hundred twenty miles to Pemberley from here, and takes me two long days of travel, well, the thought of a journey of literally thousands of miles, in an area without roads, is truly amazing. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Clark and their party, which included a Native woman named Sacajawea, who was carrying a child, were all incredibly brave souls.”
“Whatever was a woman doing with them?” Miss Bingley demanded in astonishment, which provoked a critical look from Mr. Darcy. “Oh, that is, I daresay I have not read that far yet,” the lady mumbled.
Darcy nodded and said, “She was, as I said, a native, and she provided vital guiding services to the company and also helped in their interactions with native tribes they encountered.”
Elizabeth looked around and said, “At moments like this, I am aware that I live a very comfortable life.”
“Indeed, we do,” Darcy agreed.
“Well, I suppose that might be true of you, Miss Elizabeth,” Caroline Bingley said with more than a little indignation, “but I have responsibilities here as mistress of this house, and as for Mr. Darcy, well, Pemberley is absolutely enormous, and he works very hard indeed to keep the estate in good heart, not to mention that he is guardian for his young sister, Miss Darcy!”
Mr. Darcy looked startled and opened his mouth to speak, but Elizabeth said quickly, “Certainly, I am all admiration for gentlemen like Mr. Darcy, who have so many people’s happiness in their guardianship and who are honorable enough to work faithfully to fulfill his responsibilities.
I have never seen Pemberley, of course, but I have heard enough to have no doubt that it is truly incredible. ”
This provoked lofty praise on the part of Miss Bingley, who spent the next ten minutes speaking at length about Pemberley’s wonders, with the occasional comment from Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth noted that her hostess seemed far more interested in the furniture and paintings of the great house than the lands and her people, but that was, she supposed, no surprise.
Miss Bingley, whose family’s fortune came from trade, had likely not learned a great deal about the care of estates and tenant farmers and floods and fencing.
“Lizzy?” Jane said timidly during a longer than usual pause from Caroline.
She turned quickly toward her sister. “Yes, Jane?”
“Might you accompany me upstairs? I am feeling rather tired again.”
“Oh, indeed,” Mr. Bingley cried out, rising from his seat. “You must not weary yourself!”
Jane smiled and accepted Mr. Bingley’s hand in standing up, and then Elizabeth hurried over to adjust her sister’s shawl to cover her shoulders thoroughly.
“Good evening,” Jane said.
“Good evening,” the others chorused, and Elizabeth guided Jane out of the room and up the stairs.
She hoped and prayed, fervently, that this was the last evening they must spend here at Netherfield Hall.