Chapter 12
Elizabeth glanced at the drawing room fire and peered out the window at the woodpile next to the stable. The stacks of cordwood were low, and it would be wise to obtain more logs sooner rather than later. More importantly, she must order Mr. Gregory to arrange for the purchase of a large load of coal. November was not generally too cold, but there were exceptions.
She turned around to gaze with satisfaction at Jane, who was seated on the couch nearest the fire, her hands busy with her knitting. Jane had recovered well from her illness except for an occasional cough, much to the relief of the entire family. Mrs. Bennet, who was sitting on an arm chair staring blankly at nothing in particular, had distressed Lydia with her constant harping about proper care for Jane, with frequent references to Matthew’s last illness. Elizabeth hoped that with Jane’s renewed health, the matron would subside.
Longbourn was surprisingly quiet at the moment. Mr. Collins, along with Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, had gone to Meryton to visit Mrs. Emma Philips, Mrs. Bennet’s sister. The clergyman had shown some inclination to linger at home, but Jane had coughed dramatically in his presence, and Elizabeth had unashamedly hidden in her bedchamber to work on accounts. Eventually the rector was convinced that a pleasant stroll into town on a sunny November day would not be amiss.
“Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy,” the butler intoned solemnly, causing the three ladies to turn to the door in astonishment. The Bennet women rose to their feet and curtsied as the two gentlemen made their cautious way into the drawing room. Mr. Darcy was now an adept with the crutches, but the Longbourn drawing room was a maze with footstools and small tables and plants tucked in odd positions, all ready to reach out and trip their hapless quarry.
“Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet squealed with pleasure, “welcome to Longbourn! And good morning to you as well, Mr. Darcy.”
The latter was said far more coldly, but Darcy found he could not be offended by the woman’s manners; he had, after all, been far more insulting to her daughter not long ago at the Meryton assembly.
“Mr. Darcy,” Jane exclaimed with a welcoming smile, “please do sit down, sir, and you as well, Mr. Bingley.”
Bingley’s expression glowed with enthusiasm at the sight of the angelic Miss Bennet, but he carefully assisted his friend into a chair before taking the seat on the couch next to Jane.
“I do hope you are well, Miss Bennet,” he said, looking intently into the lady’s face, presumably in search of lingering disease.
“I am very well indeed, Mr. Bingley,” she replied, pinking with pleasure. “It was only a mild illness, and I am quite recovered.”
“That is excellent,” Bingley declared heartily. “Most excellent indeed.”
“May I inquire as to how you are feeling, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth inquired courteously.
“I am very well, and thanks to the crutches, my mobility has been vastly improved. I wish to thank your father in person for his gracious loan as the last few days would have been far more difficult without them. However, I understand he is of poor health, and I do not wish to intrude unduly.”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged quick glances and Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth in confusion, only to be interrupted by the sound of a male voice from the door.
“You are entirely welcome,” Mr. Bennet announced, shooting a sardonic smile at his second daughter, “it was indeed most gracious of me to share my crutches. Elizabeth, would you be so kind as to introduce me to our guests?”
Elizabeth was torn between vexation and relief; vexation that she had failed to tell her father of the loan, relief that Mr. Bennet seemed quite sober for 11 o’clock in the morning.
“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, my father, Mr. Bennet. Father, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”
The men all nodded to one another and Mr. Bennet waved a general hand behind him, “I will not interrupt your time with the ladies, but please feel free to stop by the library before you leave, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet, we will,” Bingley returned enthusiastically, his eyes already sliding away from his host and towards the glorious features of Miss Bennet.
/
An hour later, Fitzwilliam Darcy settled back into the carriage and heaved a sigh of relief. Climbing anywhere, whether up the stairs or into a vehicle, was still a difficult business. His ankle was improving steadily, but it still protested loudly if jostled.
Bingley, who had lingered a few moments in Longbourn for some last words with the eldest daughter of the house, climbed in, closed the door, and tapped the roof. The coach jolted into motion.
For a full minute, all was silent. Darcy had much to think about – his odd fascination with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the unnerving encounter with Mr. Bennet, and his distaste for the evening to come at Netherfield. Miss Bingley was always cloying and irritating, but she was far worse now and far more difficult to avoid given his limited movement. At least Darcy’s valet was a highly diligent servant and could be trusted to prevent a compromise.
“Mr. Bennet drinks, does he not?” Bingley suddenly announced, and Darcy started in amazement.
Apparently the surprise was obvious on his countenance because the younger man chuckled grimly, “Come, Darcy, I may not be as old as you are, but I have certainly known many a drunkard. He reeks of alcohol and his fingers tremble.”
Darcy sighed, “I am also familiar with the signs, but I admit to finding Mr. Bennet’s weakness quite startling. It was obvious based on our discussion that he is a well-educated man, and his library is extraordinary for a country squire. I am quite looking forward to reading the books that he lent me.”
“It astonished me too,” Bingley agreed ruefully, “but then I am no great reader. It is a tremendous pity.”
“It is,” the other man said solemnly. “I find it disturbing as well, given that Mr. Bennet’s life is the only thing that stands between his wife and daughters and relative poverty. Longbourn seems in remarkably good form given that its master has succumbed to the clutches of excessive drink.”
“Based on my conversations with Miss Bennet, I believe Miss Elizabeth is largely responsible for that.”
Darcy stared at his friend incredulously, “Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet waxed enthusiastic over her sister’s intelligence and diligence, and while you were stumping your way painfully to the carriage, the steward stepped into the foyer and began discussing the purchase of coal with Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy’s incredulity gave way to genuine anger, “It is unconscionable that a man of intelligence would drop such a heavy burden on his underage daughter, Bingley. Unconscionable.”
“It is, but many a man has done far worse, I suppose.”
“Like whom?” the taller gentleman demanded, still steaming.
“Henry VIII? He had two of his wives executed, after all, including Queen Elizabeth’s mother Anne.”
Darcy grunted irritably, “Very well, I acknowledge that Mr. Bennet is a better husband and father than Henry VIII, but such a comparison does not say much.”
Bingley sighed, “I suspect losing his son may have precipitated the crisis.”
“Why would you say that?”
Bingley gazed out of the carriage window, his expression melancholy, “When my brother Harold died, my mother fell into a deep depression. While she did not turn to drink, she did withdraw from us for more than two years. My father threw himself into his business and neglected his home life during that same time. Alcohol may be Mr. Bennet’s mode of escaping the grief of losing his son and heir and legacy.”
Darcy opened his mouth at this, only to be stopped by his friend’s lifted hand, “You would not do such a thing, Darcy, I know that. But you are a very strong-willed, diligent, hardworking soul. A man with a predilection towards indolence might easily fall into total lethargy after such a heartrending event.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Darcy agreed somberly, his mind focused on the estate receding behind him. If it was true that Miss Elizabeth was single-handedly keeping her family and estate solvent, she was the most remarkable woman he had ever met.
/
“Aunt Philips has invited us all to supper tomorrow evening,” Mary announced.
The five Bennet girls had retreated once again to Lydia’s chambers, all of them eager to avoid further conversation with their tedious cousin, Mr. Collins.
“That sounds very pleasant,” Elizabeth declared. “I probably ought to stay home, however, to catch up on paperwork ...”
“Oh, do say you will go, Elizabeth!” Lydia interrupted fervently. “You work too hard – you know you do – and besides I will feel better if you and Jane are both there. Aunt Philips is inviting some of the officers from the militia regiment for lottery tickets and dinner, and Kitty and I feel rather shy around them.”
Jane looked at Mary questioningly at this announcement.
“You know that Aunt Philips enjoys new acquaintances. We met an officer today on the way to her house,” Mary explained carefully, “a Mr. Wickham, who has just taken a commission in the regiment. He is an acquaintance of Mr. Denny’s, though I am not certain if you know Mr. Denny, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth frowned at this. She was far too busy to be much involved with the militia officers, but ...
“Is Mr. Denny medium height and dark haired?”
“Precisely, yes,” Mary continued. “Mr. Wickham is incredibly handsome and charming, truly the most striking man I have ever met.”
“Even more than Mr. Darcy?” Lydia asked innocently.
For some reason, Elizabeth found herself blushing at these words and ducked her head to focus on her needlework.
“Mr. Wickham is not quite as tall,” Kitty mused, “and his hair is dark blond. I would say he is at least as good looking as Mr. Darcy.”
“In any case,” Jane declared, “Mr. Wickham sounds like a pleasant new acquaintance, does he not?”
“I have no doubt he is,” Lydia said timidly, “but I find it hard to converse with strangers. Perhaps I should stay home myself ...”
“No, no, Lydia!” Kitty cried out. “You must come and keep me company. And you three older ones must come too, please!”
Elizabeth looked upon her two youngest sisters and tears sprang to her eyes. Before Matthew’s death, Lydia had been a boisterous, happy creature, to the point of being overly bold at times. Now, grief had darkened that joyful spirit and she was nervous about being away from the familiarity of Longbourn.
She glanced at Jane and nodded, “Of course we will all go.”
“And Mr. Collins will attend too,” Mary admitted with a roll of her eyes. “Our aunt invited him.”
Elizabeth only barely managed to suppress an irritated groan.