Chapter 7 #2
Mrs. Bennet, scarcely able to contain herself, curtseyed with flustered delight—her voice trembling slightly with the excitement of so distinguished a party.
“Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy! Such an honor—such distinguished visitors! Pray come in, come in. Hill, the tea—directly!”
The party entered the drawing-room, where the usual modest elegance of the apartment was rendered rather more crowded by the addition of three gentlemen of evident consequence.
Seats were offered, civilities exchanged—the conversation confined to safe topics of weather, roads, and the pleasures of the country, with no allusion to family beyond the hosts themselves.
Mr. Bennet, perceiving the constraints of his establishment, waited only until the first compliments had been paid before addressing the practicalities with his customary dryness.
“I fear, gentlemen,” he said, with a faint smile, “that Longbourn is not equal to the honor of accommodating visitors of your distinction overnight. My cousin Collins, of course, is always welcome beneath this roof—family claims must be honored—but for yourselves, I have taken the liberty of securing the best apartments at the Red Lion in Meryton. The landlord assures me they are clean, quiet, and supplied with every reasonable comfort.”
Mr. Bingley bowed with amiable acceptance.
“You are very good, sir. We would not dream of imposing.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head in silent acknowledgement, his manner correct yet reserved.
Mrs. Bennet fluttered with mingled disappointment and gratification.
“The Red Lion is most respectable, to be sure—though nothing to Longbourn’s hospitality, I am certain.”
Mr. Bennet glanced at the clock with mild significance.
“A brief respite will suffice for refreshment. Mr. Morris—the agent—awaits us at Netherfield itself, where he has the keys and papers in readiness. If you are not too fatigued from the journey, gentlemen, we might proceed thither directly in your carriage. The distance is but three miles, the roads excellent, and the light still favorable for viewing the house to advantage.”
Mr. Collins beamed with approval.
“A most sensible arrangement, cousin. Netherfield shows particularly well at this hour.”
Mr. Bingley declared himself entirely at leisure and eager to see the place, Mr. Darcy signified his concurrence with a nod, and Mr. Bennet expressed his readiness to accompany them, that he might facilitate the introductions.
Thus, after a short interval of tea and civil conversation—sufficient to establish propriety without encouraging prolongation—the party rose and returned to the carriage.
Mr. Bennet joined the three gentlemen within, the door was closed, and they set off at once for Netherfield Park, the short drive promising both convenience and the opportunity for further agreeable discourse.
***
The party reached Netherfield Park before noon, the autumn sun bathing the house in a warm, golden light that flattered its proportions and concealed any minor imperfections of maintenance.
The building itself—handsome, regular, and of a comfortable modern style—stood elevated upon rising ground, commanding pleasant views of the surrounding park and distant woods.
Mr. Morris, the agent, awaited them upon the steps, a portly gentleman of businesslike demeanor, armed with ledgers and keys.
He conducted them through the principal rooms with practiced efficiency: the entrance hall spacious and well-proportioned, the drawing-room elegantly papered, the dining-parlor of ample size for entertaining, and the library—though modestly stocked—possessing shelves enough to invite both improvement and discretion.
The upper floors revealed bedrooms airy and numerous, with windows affording agreeable prospects; the grounds, upon a brief circuit, proved extensive without being wild or neglected, the stables sound, and the gardens laid out with taste.
Mr. Bingley, whose natural animation increased with every apartment viewed, declared himself enchanted—his eyes brightening at each new advantage disclosed.
“The situation is everything I could wish,” he said, turning to Mr. Morris with eager decision.
“The light, the air, the convenience to Meryton town—all most desirable. Your written reports, sir, spoke truly of the estate’s efficiency: the farms well tenanted, the rents punctually paid, the repairs lately executed. I am quite decided. I shall take it.”
Mr. Morris bowed with professional satisfaction, producing the necessary papers from his portfolio.
Mr. Darcy, who had surveyed the whole with silent attention—noting the solid construction, the absence of ostentatious folly, and the general air of respectable neglect that might be remedied without excessive outlay—inclined his head in quiet approbation.
Beaming with the pride of one presenting a treasure from his own neighborhood, Mr. Collins ventured to observe that Netherfield wanted only a master of Mr. Bingley’s liberality to be accounted one of the pleasantest estates in the county—his voice conveying both local loyalty and genuine gratification.
To conclude the business, Mr. Morris proposed they repair at once to Meryton, where Mr. Phillips—Mr. Bennet’s brother-in-law, a respectable attorney—might draw up the preliminary agreements without delay.
The suggestion was unanimously accepted, and the party proceeded thither in the carriage, the short drive affording Mr. Bingley opportunity to express his growing attachment to the place, and Mr. Darcy to remark upon the evident good order of the surrounding farms.
At Mr. Phillips’s office in the High Street—a neat, busy establishment redolent of ink and parchment—the papers were reviewed and signed with commendable dispatch.
Mr. Phillips, a genial man of middle years with a lawyer’s precision and a relation’s warmth, assured Mr. Bingley that possession might be taken within a fortnight, all being in readiness.
Business thus satisfactorily concluded, the gentlemen went to the Red Lion, where apartments had been secured.
The inn proved clean and respectable, its parlor comfortable, and its table promising a plain but wholesome supper.
As they parted in the corridor—Mr. Bingley showing himself ready to retire to his chamber with expressions of lively contentment—Mr. Darcy paused upon the landing, his manner reflective.
“I must own,” he said quietly, addressing both companions, “that the efficiency of the people hereabouts has impressed me. From the agent’s punctuality to the attorney’s readiness, everything has been conducted with a promptitude and good sense I had not entirely expected in so retired a part of the county. ”
Mr. Collins bowed with modest gratification, while Mr. Bingley laughed softly.
“You see, Darcy? Even you are half conquered already.”
Mr. Darcy permitted himself the faintest curve of the lips, but offered no denial.
As they prepared to separate for the rest of the afternoon before supper, Mr. Bennet—who had accompanied them thus far—lingered a moment at the entrance door with Mr. Collins.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Bennet said, with his characteristic dry amusement, “you have had a long day’s journey and much business besides.
I shall not detain you further. But tomorrow evening, if you are not too fatigued, we should be happy to receive you at Longbourn for supper, should it prove convenient.
Mrs. Bennet insists—and I confess I should enjoy the conversation. ”
Mr. Bingley accepted with heartfelt warmth, expressing his eager anticipation of the pleasure, while Mr. Darcy assented with grave politeness.
Thus the day concluded, each gentleman retiring with his own reflections: Mr. Bingley upon the agreeable prospect of establishing himself, Mr. Darcy upon the unexpected orderliness of Hertfordshire, Mr. Collins upon the happiness of seeing two such worthy gentlemen drawn into the circle where his cousins’ merits might soon be appreciated.
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins, having bid the others a civil good-day, set off together along the country road toward Longbourn. The afternoon sun slanted warmly through the hedgerows, and the air carried the faint, comforting scent of turned earth and distant woodsmoke.
For the first minutes they walked in companionable silence, Mr. Collins’s step unusually light, his countenance radiant with the quiet triumph of a day so singularly blessed. Mr. Bennet, observing this unaccustomed buoyancy with his customary dry amusement, judged the moment ripe for conversation.
“You appear remarkably pleased with the day’s proceedings, Cousin,” he remarked at length, his tone mild yet laced with gentle irony. “One might almost suppose you had arranged the entire affair yourself.”
William Collins colored faintly, but his smile did not diminish.
“Indeed, sir, I cannot but feel that Providence has smiled upon us all. Mr. Bingley’s decision to take Netherfield is most gratifying—and the prospect of such worthy gentlemen settling in the neighborhood…”
He trailed off, as though words were scarcely adequate to his satisfaction.
Mr. Bennet permitted himself a faint twitch of the lips.
“There is other news that may add to your felicity,” he said, with deliberate casualness.
“I had it from Sir William Lucas only yesterday. It seems Miss Lucas’s intended engagement—to a gentleman some fifteen years her senior, a widower of tolerable fortune—has fallen through.
The gentleman in question has withdrawn his addresses, citing some scruple of conscience or inconvenience—I forget which. ”
Mr. Collins halted abruptly upon the path, his eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and scarcely concealed hope.
“Fallen through, you say? But Sir William—he had appeared so decided upon the match…”
Mr. Bennet resumed walking, obliging his companion to fall in beside him again.