Chapter 2 #2
She stopped that thought. Given everything that had happened since, she was surprised to find she was still thinking about that evening. She leaned her head back against the squabs and closed her eyes.
She had not slept more than two hours together for the past three nights, her mother having thought it necessary to burst into her chamber to share further lamentations as they occurred to her.
Elizabeth fell into a deep sleep despite the jolting of the coach, and when she woke, they were already entering London.
Jane, who had been half-asleep against the cushion, stirred and sat up.
“I do not know how you can sleep so soundly in a carriage,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “You did not even wake when we changed horses.”
“I can sleep nearly anywhere. You know that.” Elizabeth glanced out of the window.
This was not Hertfordshire. There was a low continuous hum of hooves on the cobblestones, large buildings and long rows of houses, and the sound of voices calling out to greet, to scold, to sell.
In town, there was so much activity one was often more startled by silence than by noise.
A boy with a barrow darted out before them and was almost caught by the wheels, their coachman cursed at him and the boy cursed back.
“We are nearing Gracechurch Street,” the coachman called down ten minutes later, as the carriage turned.
Elizabeth and Jane put on their bonnets as the carriage drew to a halt before a wide-fronted brick house with a freshly painted door. A figure appeared in the doorway—a handsome, slender, dark-haired woman in her early thirties.
The coachman handed them down, and Aunt Gardiner was upon them before Elizabeth’s feet had quite settled on the pavement.
“Come in, my dears, come in. Your uncle sends his apologies—there has been some nonsense at the warehouse, and he will be another hour. The children have been promised they may see you after you have eaten, which is the only condition on which they consented to be kept upstairs. Lizzy, I believe you are thinner.”
“I do not think so.”
“You are, a little.” Her aunt’s eyes sparkled. “It must be all the refusing. I expect that wears on one.”
“Aunt!” Jane exclaimed with a laugh.
Aunt Gardiner linked one arm in Elizabeth’s and the other in Jane’s and drew them towardsthe door.
“Your uncle and I have been reading your mother’s letters aloud after the children are in bed,” she said.
“I must confess they have given us a great deal of entertainment. In fact, we have decided to keep a tally.”
Elizabeth stopped. “Aunt.”
“We are quite impressed with your pace.” Her aunt considered Elizabeth’s face for a moment, and then appeared to weigh whether the rest could be safely disclosed. “Two proposals in the past year. I feel I should warn you, your uncle and I have laid a small wager on the subject.”
“A wager?” said Jane, scandalised.
“Only a modest one.”
“Aunt—” Elizabeth began again, but Aunt Gardiner interrupted her.
“You need not know our terms, Lizzy. I thought only that you should know the wager exists. One likes to be informed.” She paused at the threshold and looked at Elizabeth with affectionate mischief as they entered the house.
The door had scarcely closed when it opened again and Uncle Gardiner himself appeared. “My dear girls,” he said, smiling as he crossed to them. “I could not allow you to arrive without greeting you.”
“You have come too late,” said his wife serenely. “Lizzy is already informed she is the subject of our speculation.”
“Is she indeed?” He took Jane’s hand warmly, then Elizabeth’s. “Then I must beg you will not take it amiss. Your mother’s letters have furnished us with such extraordinary intelligence that it would have felt wasteful to ignore it.”
“They have furnished you with fiction,” said Elizabeth. “Mamma’s account would have me refusing half the gentlemen of Hertfordshire.”
“Not half,” said Aunt Gardiner. “Perhaps a quarter.”
“Of course not,” Uncle Gardiner confirmed. “But I think closer to a third, my dear.”
Jane, who had been listening with a smile that trembled on the edge of laughter, said quietly, “Mamma’s stories are excellent, for she has a lively imagination.”
It was so gently said, and with such perfect composure, that for a moment neither her aunt nor uncle spoke—and then both laughed outright.
Elizabeth could only be delighted. Jane’s drollness was of the rarest sort, so seldom displayed that it always came as a small surprise when it appeared. That it had done so now was the strongest possible compliment to her aunt and uncle.
“There,” said Uncle Gardiner. “Jane has put us all to rights in a single sentence. We are not laughing at you, Lizzy, I assure you, only at the picture we have been given of you. It is a very fine one, but I suspect it is not entirely accurate.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” Elizabeth returned. “For if it were, I should be quite exhausted.”
“You may yet be,” said her aunt, with a look of mock consideration. “London is a larger matrimonial field than Hertfordshire.”
“And you, sir,” Elizabeth said, turning to her uncle, “what is your part in this sporting enterprise?”
“I cannot tell you, other than this: our rules include no interference with the principal parties and no disclosure of terms.”
“None at all?” she pressed.
“None that would spoil the amusement,” he said firmly. “You must allow us that much.”
Elizabeth regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Then I shall conclude that your wager concerns me very nearly and shall resolve to behave in the most unaccommodating manner possible.”
“My dear Lizzy,” said Aunt Gardiner, “that would be to play directly into one of our hands.”
Jane laughed again, and her uncle turned to her with a softer expression.
“And you, my dear?” he said. “We hear less of your refusals, which may mean either that you have had fewer opportunities, or that you have been better able to avoid unwanted offers.”
Jane coloured slightly. “It means only that I have not yet enough information to arrive at a conclusion.”
“A very sensible answer,” he said. “And a wiser approach than most. First impressions are not always accurate.”
Jane glanced at Elizabeth.
Aunt Gardiner nodded. “You are quite right to wish to know a gentleman better before you decide anything of consequence. He will bear a little scrutiny if he is worth your regard.”
Jane’s expression did not change, but something in it seemed to settle. “That is exactly what I think.”
Uncle Gardiner smiled at his wife. “Come,” he said. “We have conspired enough in the entryway. Let us have you upstairs so you may refresh yourselves before your aunt devises any additional stratagems.”
“An excellent idea,” said Aunt Gardiner briskly, reclaiming them both. “For once I begin, I shall not stop—and you, Lizzy, would certainly lose.”
“I am already at a disadvantage,” Elizabeth said, allowing herself to be drawn along. “For you refuse to tell me the rules of your game.”
“Precisely,” said her uncle. “And we mean to keep it so.”
Aunt Gardiner took their cloaks and handed them off to the maid, and in a very short while Elizabeth and Jane were upstairs in their shared sitting room with a basin of hot water and the promise of tea when they came down.
The door closed. For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Jane drew a long quiet breath and smiled, one of those unguarded, luminous smiles that she only displayed in private. “How very good it is to be here.”
“Infinitely better than Hertfordshire at present,” Elizabeth returned. “And decidedly safer from Mamma.”
Jane laughed and began to remove her gloves.
Elizabeth crossed to the window and looked down into the street to assure herself that they were truly here. “A tally, Jane. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“Our aunt means only to divert herself. She has four small children and must be in need of the amusement.” Jane’s cheeks pinked. “And you must allow that Mamma’s accounts were undoubtedly exaggerated.”
“I shall allow no such thing. Even if it is certainly true.”
Jane took Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it. “I am so happy to be here, Lizzy. Thank you for mentioning to Mamma that I ought to accompany you.”
“You are welcome. A banishment feels very different when you are allowed to take your favourite sister with you.”
As Jane poured the hot water into the basin and washed herself, Elizabeth dismissed her relations’ teasing. She was not in town to seek out another proposal, not at all. She was here only to help Jane see Mr. Bingley again, for she was sure he loved Jane.
It meant, however, that Jane would be required to call upon Miss Bingley, which meant Miss Bingley might call upon Jane.
If things progressed as they ought, then in some drawing room or other, Mr. Bingley would appear, and where Mr. Bingley was, his friend generally was also.
Perhaps they were not together as often in London as they had been in Hertfordshire, but it was best to be prepared, for it could not be helped.
Jane needed to see Mr. Bingley in London in order to know her own mind.
Very well, Elizabeth would do whatever she could to help.
She would be civil if forced into Mr. Darcy’s company. But she would give him no opportunity to remark upon her looks, her relations, her lack of accomplishments, or her manner of speaking. It was a very simple promise to make herself, and she was quite pleased to have thought it through so calmly.
She would not ask herself why it had required thinking through at all.