Chapter 5
Library
Longbourn
The next morning
In the last few years, Mary Bennet had assumed the primary responsibility for caring for her father.
The burden had not so much been placed on her shoulders deliberately by her mother or sisters or the servants, but rather it had fallen to her by dint of skill.
She was best suited for the position as she was not boisterous like her two youngest sisters, nor as active as Elizabeth, and she was not burdened with the duties of the eldest daughter like Jane was.
She was also fond of reading and thus had no objections to spending much of her day in the library.
Mr. Bennet was a passionate bibliophile, and on his bad days when he could not catch his breath, his books and his fire were his only comfort.
Of all the sisters, Mary could be trusted most to handle tactfully Mr. Bennet’s fractious episodes when his pain and fragile health frustrated him most.
Thankfully, today was not one of those days where he struggled to breathe or pressed his hand to his chest in recurring discomfort.
His focus was fully on the book in his hands, and Mary observed him for a moment over the top of her own volume.
He was settled comfortably in his chair, the old leather-upholstered wingback he favored, not slumped down as though too weary to support his own weight.
His eyes were clear as they moved back and forth along the lines of print on the page.
These good days were precious, especially as they grew less common.
Several times, Mary had debated confiding to someone else that Mr. Bennet’s health was deteriorating.
Lizzy, perhaps, would handle the news well, or Jane, while the idea of informing her mother was out of the question.
Mrs. Bennet might be vaguely aware that her husband did not enjoy perfect health, but it would be disastrous to inform the mistress of Longbourn about the true state of affairs.
Mrs. Bennet’s nerves were already chronically overwrought due to the entail on Longbourn away from the female line.
If she had the slightest inkling that Mr. Bennet’s death might be imminent, her hysterics would never cease and would make everyone in the house unremittingly miserable.
The only other person whom she knew to be aware of Mr. Bennet’s precarious well-being was Mr. Jones.
The apothecary visited once a fortnight to listen to Mr. Bennet’s heart and prescribe tonics or rest or mild exercise.
Never more stringent exercise, he had cautioned Mary.
Mr. Bennet’s heart was weak. The apothecary warned that it would not long tolerate any sort of strain.
Better, if that was his inclination, to let him sit and read and not be unduly disturbed.
Mary had adopted the duty of looking after her fragile parent with solemn gravity.
Assured now of his current well-being, she turned her eyes back down to her book and lost herself in the pages.
Some time later, the library door opened, and one of the footmen entered.
He was carrying a folded note, sealed with red wax.
She accepted the missive, broke the wax, and rapidly scanned the few lines within.
Dear Mary,
Jane is substantially better, and we would like to return home. I fear that Mamma will refuse us the carriage because she wishes for Jane to stay longer, the better to spend time with Mr. Bingley, but I do not wish to overstay our welcome, not at all!
Would you be willing to ask Father whether we can have the carriage? If so, we can leave Netherfield this afternoon.
Let me know either way.
With love,
Elizabeth
Mary folded the paper carefully and lifted her eyes to look at Mr. Bennet.
“Father?” she said gently.
He frowned, a trifle irritated at being disturbed. “Yes, Mary?”
“Elizabeth and Jane wish to come home. Can the horses be spared for the carriage?”
Mr. Bennet straightened and nodded. “Oh, yes. Jack informed me that the potatoes have all been hauled into storage, so the horses are available. It will be a pleasure to have your sisters home again.”
“I agree,” Mary said, and she meant it. Jane and Elizabeth were far more pleasant companions than Mrs. Bennet and the youngest two Misses Bennet, both of whom were boisterous flirts. “I will send a message to the stables.”
***
Netherfield Hall
An Hour Later
The work of a diligent estate master never ceased, especially if he happened to be the master of a large estate.
Thus, Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, found himself ensconced in the library at Netherfield, bent over the desk with his pen flowing rapidly across one of several sheets of paper spread before him.
He had received only that morning a lengthy report from his man of business, and while the agent was entirely competent and retained Darcy's full trust, some matters must be approved by the master personally.
He was just reaching the end of the page when a short, sharp noise from outside drew his attention.
Darcy rested his pen on the desk and lifted his head to look out the window.
The sight that met his eyes drew an involuntary smile to his lips.
Miss Elizabeth was standing about twenty feet down one of the garden paths that wandered away from the house, dressed charmingly in her brown pelisse, with a warm knitted cap on her head.
Maxwell the spaniel was frisking about her legs, uttering happy little yips and tugging at his lead, the other end of which was firmly held in the large fist of a stableboy.
Far from being cross at being importuned by the young dog's joy, Miss Elizabeth was smiling down at the gleefully wiggling animal, her handsome face full of kindness and her eyes merrily alight.
Darcy was struck once again by her care for and indulgence towards a mere hunting animal.
Even as he watched, she stooped to pet and pull his floppy, silky ears while Maxwell panted, his pink tongue lolling from his jaws.
Darcy realized he was staring and pulled his attention from the scene outside the window. He was enjoying this sight a bit too much, and business was calling his name…
He stared at his half-finished letter for a moment and then set down his pen with decision.
The letter would be here still in an hour or so.
He could afford to go outside. He stowed it swiftly in one of the many drawers with which the desk was liberally provided and rushed from the room.
Down the stairs he sped and out the side door, which admitted onto the gardens.
He could see the splash of color that was Miss Elizabeth's pelisse through the leafless shrubs, and he strode over to join her and the servant boy and the dog.
The stable boy straightened at the sight of his master’s guest, and he tugged his forelock, while Miss Elizabeth smiled at him and said, “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
He had rushed so quickly that his breathing was a trifle uneven, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out. Then he said, “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. I hope you are well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And how is your sister?”
“She is also well, and we will be returning home to Longbourn today.”
He was aware of a dart of disappointment in his chest, but he merely said, “I am glad that she is sufficiently well to return home.”
“Yes, we have trespassed on Mr. and Miss Bingley’s hospitality long enough,” the lady said. She looked down at the spaniel and said, “Jacob here tells me that Maxwell has entirely recovered from his dunking.”
“Oh, indeed, Miss, Sir,” the boy said hurriedly. “He is well now.”
“That is excellent news,” Darcy said and then turned to the lady. “Are you going for a walk, perchance?”
“I am. Jane is resting, and I will probably not have time for a walk after we return to Longbourn.”
“Might I join you?” Darcy asked.
She looked a little surprised, but said, “Yes, of course.”
He had, he thought, made a good decision in setting aside his work in order to meet her.
Her smile was beautiful, and her movements quick and agile.
She leaned down and patted the dog again, and then she straightened, took his offered arm, and started off down a path which he had never taken before.
Darcy was reminded, not for the first time, that Miss Elizabeth was a remarkable walker. Her legs were far shorter than his, but her regular pace was comfortable for him as opposed to dawdling.
“I have never been this way,” he remarked. “Do you know where we are going?”
She looked up at him, her eyes crinkled with amusement. “We are visiting the goldfish.”
“The goldfish?”
“Yes,” she said, turning her gaze back onto the path.
“The Pritskers, who own Netherfield, introduced goldfish into a pond some twenty years ago, and some of them have grown to an impressive size. When I was young, my nursemaid used to take us girls to see the goldfish, with the Pritskers’ permission, of course. ”
Darcy blinked. “How large are the goldfish?”
She removed her hand from his arm and held it out in front of her, with her left hand some six inches away.
“The biggest one I saw was this big, but it has been at least eight years since I have seen the goldfish. They might be bigger. They might all have died. They might be hiding. We will find out shortly. In any case, it is a pleasant destination for a walk.”
He could not disagree. He would never make it a priority to visit goldfish, but with Miss Elizabeth at his side, he found himself quite looking forward to it. Her excitement was contagious.