Chapter Eleven
The next day, wanting to avoid the parlor, her youngest sister and Mr. Wickham’s calls to them, Elizabeth headed to Netherfield Park.
She, like her father, didn’t wish to impose and give Mr. Bingley second thoughts about taking them as relations, but surely one visit couldn’t hurt.
And maybe, if Mr. Darcy happened to be present, Elizabeth could say enough that he would come to the idea of telling Mr. Bennet about Mr. Wickham’s flaws on his own, without her presuming to ask.
Elizabeth came across the fields, this being the far shorter distance, and approached Mr. Bingley’s rented residence from the back.
To her surprise, Miss Bingley stood in the garden, face angled to a page in her hands.
Even in profile, Elizabeth could see the frown etched into the other woman’s face.
“Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth called, for nothing stood between them that would shield Elizabeth from sight should the other woman look up, and therefore nothing could excuse a lack of greeting.
Miss Bingley started, pressing a hand to her heart, and looked up at Elizabeth with a scowl. Marshaling the expression, she quickly folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket in her dress, then turned to fully face Elizabeth. Her mouth pressed into a firm, disapproving line.
“I did not mean to startle you,” Elizabeth said as she drew nearer, wondering what could possibly be in Miss Bingley’s letter to put her in such a state of tension.
Miss Bingley, who stood quite a bit taller than Elizabeth, looked down her nose. “You did not.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, but instead of antagonizing, said, “I’ve come to see Jane.”
“Miss Bennet is not here.” Perhaps unconsciously, Miss Bingley pressed a hand to the pocket sewn into her skirt, as if the letter might leap out.
“Not here?”
“My brother and Louisa went to town with her, to look at hats.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth cast about, trying to think of any reasonable way to ask after Mr. Darcy. She might, at least, accomplish part of her mission, even if she could not see Jane.
“And Mr. Darcy is riding,” Miss Bingley added, unprompted, her mouth pinching over the words.
Amused at Miss Bingley’s assumption that any unwed miss must angle to win Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth asked blandly, “And Mr. Hurst?”
“You cannot possibly be here to call on Mr. Hurst.”
“No, but I am also not here to call on Mr. Darcy,” at least, not truly, “and you felt the need to expound on his location.” Because she wouldn’t mind the chance to speak with him, and to torment Miss Bingley in exchange for her rude behavior, Elizabeth looked about and asked, “In what direction did Mr. Darcy ride?”
“I’ve no idea. He does not confide such things to me.”
“How discouraging for you.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze narrowed, and she clenched her hand around the letter hidden in her skirt. “If that is all? I have correspondence to see to.”
Elizabeth considered further torment in the form of asking to wait for Jane but pushed the idea away. Jane must live with Miss Bingley as a relation from now on, and surely didn’t need Elizabeth adding tension where it must already exist. “That is all, and I thank you for being so illuminating.”
Miss Bingley frowned, nodded, and turned away.
With a sigh, Elizabeth did likewise. Back to the parlor and her father’s neglected mending it was, but first she would write to Jane to tell her all that had happened the day before.
Maybe Jane would mention enough to Mr. Darcy to spur him into action, though more likely, Jane would put a good face on Mr. Wickham’s attentions.
Miss Bingley and her letter were quickly forgotten as Elizabeth returned to dwelling on her worry over Mr. Wickham, and her walk back passed quickly.
By Sunday, Elizabeth had yet to settle on a clear course of action, but to her surprise, when they attended service, the banns were not read for Lydia and Mr. Wickham.
Nor were they for Kitty and Captain Carter.
Even so, after church, both gentlemen set off for Goldfinch Cottage, walking Kitty and Lydia back.
Riding with Mary and their parents, Elizabeth decided she would remain in the cottage, waiting for the two engaged couples to return, curious what she’d missed by her recent, deliberate, absences from the parlor.
She was eager to discover exactly why there’d been no banns, but didn’t want to ask on the carriage ride.
Her mother’s aggrieved countenance said an argument might begin, and an argument in a closed carriage with Mrs. Bennet was to be avoided, even if she’d been more reasonable of late.
When the two engaged couples reached the cottage, a frown marred Mr. Wickham’s usual affable visage. Kitty and Captain Carter appeared worried, but Lydia stood near the parlor door beside Mr. Wickham, wearing a cheerful smile. In a chair by the fire, the tabby cat napped, curled in a ball.
Taking a half step forward, Mr. Wickham faced Mr. Bennet where he sat on the sofa with Mrs. Bennet and Mary. “Mr. Bennet, may I speak with you alone? I’d like to have clarification on something Carter said on the walk here.”
Elizabeth, who stood by the fireplace to make room for the newly betrothed to take the four chairs, if they wished to move the cat, narrowed her eyes.
“No,” Mr. Bennet said. “We are all family here, and I value Mrs. Bennet’s opinion on whatever you mean to say.” He gave his wife a firm nod.
Mr. Wickham put on an ingratiating smile. “I really would prefer to speak to you in private, sir.”
“Perhaps, but you will not. If it’s about money, I will tell you what I told Captain Carter, and what I’m certain he told you, sparking this quest for my ear.
My daughters don’t have a trousseau. I also can’t give you any money on a regular basis.
I will give each of you one hundred pounds in lieu of a trousseau.
That is the extent of my support. When I die, my estate goes to Mrs. Bennet in a trust. She may only take the income from the trust. I will guarantee both Kitty and Lydia that they will inherit one-fifth of the trust, but not until their mother’s death. ”
Mr. Wickham paled. “But you have two thousand pounds a year.”
“No. I had two thousand pounds a year.” He gestured, encompassing the room.
“As you can see, circumstances have changed. The previous residents of Goldfinch Cottage left after the harvest and didn’t pay their quarter’s rent.
I was renovating it to make this cottage attractive to new tenants, but I can’t rent to new tenants now, because we need a place to live. ”
“But you have their farm.”
“And I will need to hire extra workers for it.”
“But you must have money,” Mr. Wickham said on a note of triumph. “If you have enough to rebuild your house, you have enough to give to me. I’ll take what you would have spent making room for Lydia.”
“Who said that I plan to rebuild?”
“Everyone.”
“Then everyone is wrong,” Mr. Bennet said.
“What,” Mrs. Bennet cried, swiveling to face her husband. “I thought you were going to rebuild in the spring.”
“If we save, I might be able to rebuild something in about five years. It won’t be as large. Furnishing it will take longer.”
Elizabeth’s mother began to shake. Her face went red, then stark white. All the reason of recent days vanished from her eyes. “Do you mean we’re stuck here?”
“Yes.”
“Nooo,” she wailed. She flopped back against the sofa, an arm coming up to cover her eyes in a gesture Elizabeth knew well and had dared to hope never to see again. “No. Oh, no. My nerves.”
Mr. Bennet stared at her, appearing a touch bereft.
“We have a roof over our heads. We have food. I can borrow books from our friends, and I have one on the way from London still, that I ordered before the fire. We still have a carriage, so you can go visiting.” He lightly touched her shoulder.
“Fanny, I know it’s a simpler life, but I thought we were happy here. ”
Mrs. Bennet’s arm dropped to reveal not the familiar crumpled expression of her nerves, but anger.
“How can you possibly think that? I am not happy here. I’ve been making the best of this I can and living on the hope for better soon.
” She glared at Mr. Bennet. “Do not mistake my efforts at reasonableness for enjoyment. I hate it here. I hate this despicable little cottage. I hate that you won’t let me go live with Jane.
And, Thomas Bennet, I am very near to hating you. ”
Elizabeth’s father appeared stunned. Sympathy welled in her. He, like she, had begun to view Mrs. Bennet as a reasonable person. Past him, on the other side of the sofa from their mother, Mary huddled, obviously wishing she wasn’t sitting with their parents.
“Furthermore,” Mrs. Bennet snapped. “I do not only want to visit. I want to have visitors.”
Across from the sofa, the two newly betrothed couples still stood. Captain Carter held Kitty’s hand tightly, looking at her rather than Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Wickham scowled at Elizabeth’s father. Elizabeth’s sisters watched their parents with wide eyes.
“You can have visitors,” Mr. Bennet protested. “A few at a time. And if all goes well, we can afford to put a small addition on the cottage this summer.”
“If we can afford an addition, we can afford to make a down payment and mortgage the rest,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“We need a cushion. Farming is chancy, and tenants are likely to leave if things go badly. If we go heavily into debt we may lose everything. I can afford to double the size of this room and still have enough to support us with one year’s bad harvest.”
“Double the size of this room?” Mrs. Bennet surged to her feet.
“You are not going to please me with an addition, sir.” She stamped across the room, the two couples splitting to move out of her way.
In the doorway, she whirled back. “Fix your own meals from now on, Mr. Bennet. I am going to bed.” She stormed from the parlor. Her footfalls pounded up the staircase.