Chapter Thirteen
Jane tried to do her sister proud in preparing for the dinner party.
She informed the staff that no alterations to the usual meals at Netherfield were required for the occasion; she would not lend fanfare to Miss Bingley’s attempt at showing off.
They were to use their regular dishes rather than the finest china, the special vintage of wine was to be left undisturbed in Mr. Bennet’s collection, and the finest flowers left in the garden rather than arranged in any elegant table setting.
Every member of the staff had a sly smile for Jane that evening, and Jane fairly glowed from it.
Miss Bingley had her triumph however, in seating herself at the top of the table, a place which rightfully belonged to Mr. Bennet’s ward.
Lady Lucas perceived this slight and voiced her astonishment with a sniff of disdain that did a great deal to endear her to Jane.
Charlotte’s presence was also reassuring; the friends shared so many looks of mirth across the table whenever Miss Bingley and the Hursts voiced any complaint about the fare, that Jane did not worry what her father made of her mischief.
Jane had been so concerned with ensuring the dinner did not gratify Miss Bingley that she had entirely forgotten about Charlotte’s brother.
He was keen to flirt with Jane, and at the first sign of Jane’s discomfort, Mr. Lucas had Miss Bingley’s wholehearted support.
Mrs. Hurst was her sister’s faithful assistant, agreeing with everything Miss Bingley said, and further isolating Jane from the conversation at the table by attempting to amaze the Lucas ladies with tales of their social exploits in London.
When the ladies withdrew to the parlor, Miss Bingley performed a complicated piece of music at the pianoforte to impress the other ladies, though all but Mrs. Hurst were united in a resolution not to gratify Miss Bingley with excessive praise.
Miss Bingley called upon Jane to perform next, and Charlotte gave her friend a worried look.
Miss Bingley had been technically correct in her playing, but she had done so with more self-importance than feeling, which Jane had been taught to consider a failing.
Elizabeth, she knew, practiced irregularly, and Miss Bingley may have heard as much, but if she expected anything inferior to her own abilities, Jane was determined to disappoint her.
She selected an ambitious piece, one with a livelier tempo which would be more pleasing to her audience than Miss Bingley’s selection, and she played it from memory.
She infused a great deal of emotion into her performance, thinking tenderly of a gentleman she had once admired before meeting Frank Churchill, and she was moved to tears as she played.
When she finished, Jane heard nothing but the sounds of after-supper refreshments.
She turned around to see her guests being served by a distracted maid, who appeared to also have tears in her eyes.
Bessie was not helping at all; she stood utterly still, a look of supreme astonishment on her face.
Charlotte was also gaping at Jane, a small plate of petit fours in her hand, her posture frozen.
The other two ladies began to politely clap, but it was clear that they had never seen Elizabeth Bennet make such a display.
Miss Bingley wore a look of devious glee, as if delighted to find her rival more of a challenge than expected; she subtly lifted her wine glass to Jane, then turned to whisper to her sister.
Unnoticed in the doorway, the gentlemen now stepped into the room.
Mr. Bennet added his applause to the others’.
“Well, Lizzy, you have improved yourself indoors as well as out of doors at Weymouth! Are we to forever be locked in a battle of who can astonish the other most profoundly?”
“If that is the case, you will find me determined to prevail,” Jane replied, thinking of the secret she carried, which knew outstripped anything he could shock her with.
“I daresay you will triumph at the last, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Hurst said with a haughty lilt to her voice. “Someday you will surprise even yourself by playing so beautifully in some grand gentleman’s home in London. Oh, you must take her to town, Caroline – she might impress a very eligible beau.”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “We move in the first circles, Louisa, where such talents are commonplace, but I agree she ought to at least attempt a London season.”
Jane shrank back, looking to her father for some support, but it was Charlotte who came to her rescue.
“Lizzy told me there were far too many unworthy beaux vying for her notice in Weymouth. She has earned the respite of some peace at home before being induced to again perform to those who could never deserve her.”
Charlotte suggested they take a turn about the room, which Jane agreed would be most refreshing.
The two ladies whispered their grievances about Miss Bingley and her equally odious relations, and then Charlotte apologized for her brother.
“You did well enough to discourage him, though I fear you must have been near to implosion at holding your tongue so valiantly!”
Jane merely relied on her own natural reticence, but she had been fortunate that none of her failures to mimic Elizabeth had yet exposed her.
Believing the rest of their party to be distracted, Jane reached into her bodice, where she had secreted on her person a small, folded letter for Charlotte to send express to Frank Churchill, along with a coin for the cost of it.
She feared to send it from Netherfield, particularly with Miss Bingley so prone to treat the place as if it were her home already.
Charlotte clearly relished the chance to be of service, and Jane was relieved that she could warn her beau not to send any letters to Highbury, for poor Elizabeth would be mortified by his amorous style of writing.
Eventually, the Lucases, the Hursts, and Miss Bingley all took their leave together.
The latter seemed uncommonly taken with Charlotte’s outerwear as Jane and her father followed their guests to the front drive to bid them farewell.
Miss Bingley fussed over the lace trim on Charlotte’s pelisse, complimented its finery and made a show of examining the tailoring.
Then, with alarmingly deft sleight of hand, Miss Bingley liberated the small letter from Charlotte’s pocket without being observed by anybody but Jane, who could only press her lips together in silent horror.
Miss Bingley was handed into her carriage without so much as a backward glance, and Jane could do nothing but agonize over her peril.
***
Jane had not long to wait for the inevitable confrontation with Miss Bingley.
After a sleepless night spent wavering between panic and despair, and abject fury like nothing she had ever felt before, Jane dressed herself with particular care, resolved to confront Miss Bingley discreetly at the first opportunity; it was best to have done with it at once.
Better still, Miss Bingley called directly after breakfast, looking rather pleased to hear that Mr. Bennet was occupied with his steward.
Bessie lingered for a while, busying herself with polishing some pictures hanging in the corner, until Miss Bingley grew tired of exchanging inanities about the weather and summarily dismissed the housekeeper.
Bessie made it plain in glancing at Jane that she would only take orders from the young lady who was still mistress of the house, but Jane nodded her agreement.
When Bessie retreated into the music room and closed the adjoining doors, Jane stood and prepared to do battle with her nemesis directly.
She crossed the room and poured herself a dram of whiskey from one of the decanters, then stared brazenly at Miss Bingley with folded arms, summoning all of her sister’s fearlessness.
“I saw you steal something from my friend Charlotte last night, Miss Bingley. My father has a stern outlook on admitting pickpockets to the house, though in the past even our staff have never given us cause to take measures after a theft.”
Miss Bingley produced the letter and ran her fingers across it as she prepared to toy with her quarry.
“You mean this?” She began to stalk about the periphery of the room.
“Why did you not say so last evening? Surely that would have been the only time that anything could be proven – now it is your word against mine, and of course nobody else saw anything amiss.”
“If you think my father will believe you over me, you are entirely mistaken,” Jane said evenly.
“Your guardian understands my value well enough, for I can grant him what he desires above anything – a son. If he prized you so dearly, Eliza, he would have no need to take a wife at all.”
Jane flinched as Miss Bingley stared her down with a vicious smirk. “I suppose you just have some purpose in taking that from Charlotte?”
Miss Bingley trilled with malicious laughter.
“I saw you pass it to her, of course. Shall I finally satisfy my curiosity and see what it says?” She broke the seal, and Jane trembled.
Miss Bingley gave a mocking pout of her lips.
“Oh, dear Eliza, you need not despair. Perhaps you might accept that I am your family now, and as such we might share confidences freely. I could be such a good friend to you, introducing you to eligible beaux that might marry you and carry you far, far away – we need never trouble one another again.”
Jane clenched her fists at her side. “I will not go quietly and marry simply to make way for you. My father will not force me into any such arrangement.”