Chapter 25
“Mrs. Elizabeth! I had not expected anyone to be at breakfast.” Darcy entered the parlour, surprised to find Elizabeth already seated.
She looked up at him; there was a tiredness about her face, yet her expression was bright, her smile warm.
“The house is very quiet, indeed. I suggested to Mrs. Reynolds that we set a late breakfast for our guests and allow the staff—those who spent the day at Lambton—a little longer to recover. Lacy, the under-cook, is in the kitchen—I fear Cook herself was quite exhausted by the end of the day.”
Darcy poured himself coffee and took a slice of toast from the plates laid out on the sideboard. “And you, Mrs. Elizabeth, are you not resting? For I believe your day was as long, if not longer, than anyone’s.”
“I shall sneak away to my room at the earliest opportunity, but there remains much to be done about the estate.” She gave him a sly smile.
“Child and of course you should return to your room. It was only a suggestion that we visit the cottagers along the stream off Beeley Moor. I’m sure James can accompany me—perhaps a day sitting in the market cart would help him recover from yesterday’s labour.”
“James? My apologies, I did not thank you for digging the channel,” said Darcy, turning to the footman.
“I daresay I would not have recognised you without your being covered in mud. It was a job very well done.” He turned back to Elizabeth.
“Mrs. Elizabeth, you are taking the cart to the cottagers; surely Baxter can see to their needs?”
“Perhaps, but can he talk to the tenants’ wives and their children?
Oh, for sure, there will be work required to repair rooves and remove fallen trees, but are the families dry and safe inside the cottage?
Has water, dripping through the roof, dampened the fire?
Have their stores of flour and oats survived?
The women know me and will tell of their true troubles, rather than confide in a man and embarrass their husbands. ”
“Can it not wait until the morrow, when we are all somewhat recovered?”
“No, indeed, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, with some compassion. “Another night with wet blankets and cold food—‘tis for sure the children will come down with colds, or worse, inflammation of the lungs.”
* * *
Elizabeth was surprised, when she exited by way of the kitchen, to find Mr. Darcy already seated on the cart. James handed her up onto the platform and waited until she was comfortably seated on the bench.
“I thought to inspect the damage from the storm myself, Mrs. Elizabeth, and saw an opportunity for us to talk privately,” said Darcy, picking up the reins.
“I’ve had an Old English Black put to the shaft, as the lanes are likely muddy, and the draught will require a heavy horse to pull us free if we sink into the mire. ”
The cart lurched forward at an easy pace as Darcy turned it through the stable yard and onto the main lane, which spanned the estate from east to west, much like the Great North Road spanned England from London to Scotland.
They sat silently for a while, the peace welcome after the rigours of the previous day, glad to be away from the house and the need to entertain Pemberley’s guests.
How natural it was for Elizabeth to think of them as her guests, when she now set out as caretaker—likely for the last time.
“Mrs. Elizabeth, there is much to discuss. As we said before—the accounts, issues pertaining to the estate, renewal of the leases. But, if I may, I observed at dinner last night, and afterwards, that you were rather cool to Mr. Bingley. I have found him a pleasant, agreeable man—perhaps too easy-going, but cheerful and sociable. It is presumptuous of me to enquire, but towards the others you were everything gracious and forthcoming.”
She determined that honesty with Mr. Darcy was for the best, that she would not dissemble. “Yes, I do hold fault against Mr. Bingley. For while he appears everything kind and open, he is either of fickle temperament or cruelly deceitful.”
“How so! He is the last man I would have accused as such,” exclaimed Darcy, astonished by her reply. “May I ask how you have come to such an opinion?”
“Of course, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “I had heard of Mr. Bingley from Hertfordshire, where he had taken a house, Netherfield Park, which is adjacent to my father’s estate, Longbourn.”
“Indeed, I visited Netherfield, and attended an assembly at Meryton, but was called away to London—my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had just returned from the Peninsula, gravely wounded.”
“The colonel is a fine man,” said Elizabeth. “I had the pleasure of meeting him at Lady Matlock’s—‘twas where I first met Georgiana.”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, though her face was obscured by her white linen cap.
Her beautiful chestnut hair had escaped, falling in graceful waves about her neck.
Mrs. Elizabeth—an acquaintance of his aunt, Lady Matlock?
Yet he should not have been surprised, since she was also a confidante of Lady Jersey, also a countess.
Elizabeth continued, “One evening, Miss Bingley congratulated herself on having saved her brother from a most imprudent marriage. Her benevolence—as she calls it—occurred during the past winter, some eight months ago. You may not be aware, but Miss Bingley frequently makes such allusions, believing them to demonstrate her deep understanding of refined society.”
“And what reasons did she give for this interference?”
“She spoke of some very strong objections against the lady,” said Elizabeth.
“I do not understand—how does this reflect on Bingley’s character?”
“Can you countenance a man, Mr. Darcy, who singles out a young lady—a lady of all loveliness and goodness, and pays her every attention? She, the excellent daughter of a gentleman. Why, at the very assembly you attended, he danced with the lady twice; at every gathering—dinners, soirées, other entertainments—he sought out her company to the exclusion of all others. Then, some six weeks later, he holds a ball in the lady’s honour: opens the ball with her, dances the supper set, and then the last. Can there be a more obvious declaration?
Perhaps a rake in London may do so—but he would be a known rake, and his partner, foolish.
But in the country? No! He had made his declaration fully aware that the neighbourhood knew his intent.
Yet, the very next day, after stating he would return within but three days and having accepted an invitation to dinner, he departs.
His sisters close the house, without any word of farewell to the families—those very same families who had welcomed Bingley to their dinner tables and into their parlours. ”
“I believe,” said Darcy cautiously, “that you know the lady?”
“Indeed! Miss Bingley was rather careless in her story, for she had not thought of the likeness between the name of the lady Mr. Bingley so cruelly disdained and my own. The lady was Miss Bennet, Miss Jane Bennet—my beloved sister, who has never had an ill thought for anyone. Yet, there is more to this tale. For my sister, on invitation from my uncle and aunt Gardiner, travelled to London, where she determined to call on the Bingley sisters. Her reception was barely civil, claiming they were about to leave the house, though it was clear they had no such intention. They returned the call after an overly long three weeks, and all further correspondence was ignored—even though, in Meryton, they had called Jane their dear friend.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed deeply, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on the reins. “This does cast a different light upon his character than I had supposed,” he said slowly. “I confess, I cannot think Bingley of being cruel.”