Chapter 14
Darcy
Netherfield was slowly returning to normal for the residents, if not the servants. That night’s dinner was very simple—featuring cold meats and cheeses supplemented by a large assortment of rolls Darcy had ordered and paid for.
Darcy was startled when Miss Elizabeth began her campaign of confusion.
She swept a smiling look around the table as she said, “I wanted to tell you all, since you are new to Hertfordshire, about a very interesting library connected to one of Meryton’s neighbouring towns.
I wondered if you have heard of Mr. Wickley, who owns the bookstore in Hatfield? ”
The Bingleys and Hursts just looked blank, but Darcy hurried to answer, “I have not,” and his sister said, “Nor I.”
Miss Elizabeth smiled brilliantly and said, “Well, Mr. Wickley runs a very fine shop—no bigger nor better than our own bookshop here in Meryton, but with many different books. My father routinely buys from both shops. And Mr. Wickley so appreciated my father’s patronage of his store that, when he heard that my father had business in Manchester, he invited him to his uncle’s estate, which is in Ramsbottom.
His uncle, who is also a Mr. Wickley, has an amazing library.
Miss Bingley, I thought you might be interested in his scheme: rather than shelving his books by topic, as most people do, he organises them by the colour of their spines. ”
Miss Bingley immediately looked thoughtful.
Darcy, in an attempt to act as others would expect, used a judgmental tone as he asked, “Organised by colour? What sort of sense does that make?”
Miss Elizabeth said, “The elder Mr. Wickley said that he does not organise his own books for the convenience of people browsing their preferred interest, but rather so that he himself can easily find the desired book, and he finds that organising them by the colour of their bindings enables him to swiftly find whatever volume he is searching for.”
“Mr. Wickley is unusual,” Georgiana said. “Most people pay little attention to the colour of the spine of a book and would be hard pressed to remember the colours of hundreds of volumes.”
“Yes, Mr. Wickley must surely be an odd fellow,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “But my father claimed that Mr. Wickley’s colour-sorting scheme resulted in a beautiful library. According to him, standing in the middle of Mr. Wickley’s library is like standing inside a rainbow!”
Darcy shook his head, pretending to be flummoxed by the foibles of others. He said, “That reminds me of Mrs. Wickall’s library in Ramsbury. Do you remember Mrs. Wickall, Georgie?”
Georgiana replied, “I am not sure. Is Mrs. Wickall the widow who…did not like reading as much as did her dearly departed husband, Mr. Wickall?”
“Yes, indeed, that is her. Mrs. Wickall did not have a rainbow library in her home—far from it. Instead, she removed almost all of Mr. Wickall’s books, other than the few that were a particular shade of deep red with gold-leaf titles on the spines.
And then she bought many more books and ended up filling the shelves with books bound in the same deep red colour with gold-leaf titles. ”
Georgiana’s eyes were wide, her eyebrows were high, and she looked as though she was attempting to suppress a smile. “Oh, yes, I remember Mrs. Wickall’s red and gold library very well indeed. It was quite a sight!”
“It must have been!” Miss Elizabeth said. “What think you, Miss Bingley?”
Miss Bingley’s eyes were shining. “Decorating with books, by colour…. This is a very good notion, one I have never contemplated before. I think I shall redo the Netherfield library!”
Georgiana gasped. “All red and gold?”
“Oh, no, indeed.” Miss Bingley was silent for a few seconds and then, preening, said, “I hope I have better taste than that! Red is not a very soothing colour, and a library should have a quiet, hushed, erudite feel to it, a soothing feel. I shall do only books in deep blue, pale green, and many different shades of grey. What think you of that colour scheme, Miss Eliza?”
“That sounds truly lovely, Miss Bingley. Very restful. And, remember, it will not necessarily be the entire cover that must be those colours; only the spines will show.”
“Yes! That will make the entire endeavour easier, I believe,” Miss Bingley said. “Thank you!” She seemed to catch herself a moment later, startled that she had thanked Miss Elizabeth for anything at all. She frowned as if she could take back her warm words with a chilly glare.
Miss Bingley talked and talked through two additional courses, planning how she would tie in the the colours of the book spines with those of the wall coverings and curtains and rugs and decor.
Darcy would have attempted to busy his mind with other concerns, as he often did when Miss Bingley spoke, but he was utterly entranced by watching Miss Elizabeth’s expressive face.
She mostly kept her face turned towards Miss Bingley, looking riveted by their hostess’s decorating prowess, displaying a smile that did not seem even the slightest bit sarcastic.
But her eyes…. Darcy could see all of her mirth in her sparkling eyes.
Darcy approached Miss Elizabeth after dinner, when the group was gathered in the blue drawing room. “Is this the name of the men, and their towns?” he asked, handing her a piece of paper. “Mr. Wickley of Hatfield? And his uncle, Mr. Wickley of Ramsbottom?” he asked.
Miss Elizabeth read the note, which asked “True? Rainbow library?”
“Oh dear, you have misspelled his name. Let me correct it for you,” Miss Elizabeth said.
She moved to a desk in the corner, got out the ink and quill, and wrote, “I do not know that he has an uncle with a rainbow library. But, on the other hand, I do not know that he does NOT have such an uncle, with such a library!”
She blew on the paper and gave it back to Mr. Darcy. “I wrote the direction as well, so you will be sure to find the Mr. Wickleys.”
Mr. Darcy glanced at the note, then folded it and put it carefully inside one of his pockets. His eyes were warm, but he kept their contact as brief as possible under Miss Bingley’s disapproving scowl.
Georgiana had taken up a book she had been reading earlier in the day, and she began giggling.
“Oh, dear Georgiana!” Miss Bingley said. “It is so pleasant to hear your laughter. That has been a rare sound of late. Pray tell us which book you find so humorous. Although, never mind; its spine is not the correct colour, so I suppose we will not be keeping it.”
Georgiana laughed harder, and Darcy hurried to say, “Oh, no, Miss Bingley. This book is one we brought with us, and we shall be keeping it with our things and taking it away with us, never fear.”
“I must go see to my sister,” Miss Elizabeth said as she rose from her chair. “Georgiana, would you like to come for a few minutes? Bring your book; I am certain that my sister could use a laugh, and it sounds as if your book is quite amusing.”
Georgiana managed to rein in her laughter long enough to say a proper good night, and Darcy watched the two young women leave the room. He could not keep his lips from twitching into a smile as he considered the ridiculous dinner conversation.
But soon the smile left his face as his thoughts turned to the other tactic Miss Elizabeth hoped to utilise to protect his sister.
To discredit Miss Bingley as an information source could be somewhat dangerous, could it not?
Miss Elizabeth had suggested pretending to set up an important private meeting and ensuring that Miss Bingley heard about the time and location of the meeting.
The attempt to draw Miss Bingley in would involve the meeting participants deliberately stating falsehoods.
Miss Elizabeth had said that they would only spread misinformation that could easily be refuted; should Miss Bingley take the bait and spread the untruths, the misinformation could then be fully disproved.
However, would that still not involve some risk for the person the misinformation concerned? Even refuted, disproved rumours sometimes spread….
Darcy decided that his cousin Richard might be able to help with this sort of campaign, and he sat down to write a message to the colonel.
He was currently stationed in London, working on gathering and deciphering intelligence while he recovered from a significant injury.
He might be able to obtain leave to work on safeguarding his ward’s reputation.
But it would not do for him to come to Netherfield at first. They must meet somewhere else, a place far from Miss Bingley’s prying ears, where they could lay their plans.
The following morning, Darcy checked in with Mr. Tomkins and was assured that, unless he was a skilled carpenter, there was nothing more he could do at this point.
The steward shared that Mr. Philips had let him know that workmen would be arriving that afternoon to begin to make the structural repairs, plus a team who would be working on repairs of the damaged kitchen items. “I have already informed Mr. Bingley, sir, and he knows that he will have to make arrangements to house the workers.”
Darcy nodded and said, “Let me know if it turns out I can be of service.”
He broke his fast and then went to the library to deal with the correspondence he had neglected the day before. Several hours later, Darcy put his completed letters out for posting and saw that the first two workmen had arrived concurrent with the arrival of a luncheon sent by Lucas Lodge.
When the Netherfield residents sat down together to enjoy the luncheon, Georgiana began to talk about Margate.
Darcy immediately remembered that the seaside town was one that Miss Elizabeth had suggested for the confusion campaign.
Since Miss Elizabeth was not present to assist Georgiana, he listened with the goal of furthering the conversation.
His sister started off in a minor way: “Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, have you ever been to Margate?”
It turned out that Mrs. Hurst, before she was married, had travelled with a friend to Margate.
Georgiana asked, “And did you like it there? I have heard that the assemblies at Margate are more engaging than those at Bath or Brighton. I myself have been to Margate and found the beaches quite delightful.”
“Yes, it was lovely,” Mrs. Hurst began to say, but her soft voice was almost immediately overwhelmed by Miss Bingley, who said with a calculated air, “I am sure it is not so nice as Ramsgate, would you not agree, dear Georgiana?”
Darcy used his old standby, his self-control, not to flinch or react to the name Ramsgate, but he feared that his sister would give away her emotional response to her memories of the town.
But, it turned out, Georgiana seemed to have plenty of self-control as well.
She aimed a puzzled look at Miss Bingley and asked nonchalantly, “Ramsgate? That town is fine, I suppose. I know Margate far better, I am afraid.”
Miss Bingley opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again.
Darcy was certain that she had dangled the name Ramsgate in front of his sister in an attempt to gather more damaging information, or to confirm a scandalous assumption, or…
. Fury rose up in him, and he found it difficult to think about anything other than grabbing his sister, escaping Miss Bingley’s poisonous presence, and hiding away from everybody and everything at Pemberley.
But if his sister, at her young age, was strong enough to conquer what must be her reactions to the gossipmonger, surely he could rise to the occasion as well!
Concentrate on creating confusion, Darcy counselled himself. He said, “I think it is fascinating to learn about the work done at the Royal Sea Bathing Hospital in Margate. That town, like Bath, is in part devoted to furthering physical health.”
“Yes!” Georgiana said. “That is what I was thinking as well, William. But also…do you remember how charming some of those Margate cottages were, architecturally?”
“I remember,” Darcy replied, “that you particularly liked the pastel-coloured stucco, and I found the wrought-iron balconies especially attractive.”
“It was in all ways memorable,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Perhaps, Caroline, you should consider going to Margate someday.”
Because Miss Bingley had been specifically addressed, Darcy considered it to be safe to really look at her.
She did look a bit puzzled. He said, “It is but seventy to eighty miles of good road from London to Margate, Miss Bingley. You would be able to go there next summer, if you wished to, in a day, or possibly two days. You might find Margate as delightful as Georgiana and I have.”
He carefully watched Miss Bingley’s face, especially her eyes. He believed that he saw, not without a trace of horror, the moment that she abandoned her attempt to winkle secrets out of a young girl and instead calculated how to turn their conversation into an invitation.
“Mr. Darcy,” his would-be blackmailer purred in what he supposed she believed to be an appealing manner. “I would be charmed to accompany you and Georgiana to Margate next summer. Nothing would please me more!”
Darcy heard gasps. He quickly glanced at the company and saw that his sister and he were the only two who had not reacted much to Miss Bingley’s words.
Bingley and both Hursts stared at Miss Bingley, all three with startled eyebrows and widened eyes, all three with mouths slightly open after their gasps at the woman’s audacity.
Drawing himself up even straighter than his usual erect sitting posture, Darcy adopted his best Master-of-Pemberley voice, and said, “Georgiana and I will be at Pemberley all summer. There is much to do on a great estate during the height of the growing season.” He silently consulted his sister with raised eyebrows and an inclination of his head.
She nodded, and he addressed Miss Bingley again, “Please excuse us.” The two Darcys stood up, abandoning their half-eaten luncheon, and left the room.