10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Doomed
E lizabeth dressed for dinner with dread. She did not know how she would face Mr. Darcy, knowing what she did. It was hard enough last night when she had thought he would be her husband. That awkwardness was nothing to knowing exactly what it was she had lost.
She had not told Jane about her confrontation with Mr. Darcy that morning. Her sister was so happy, and she did not wish to ruin it. A horrible thought ran through her mind. In his anger, would Mr. Darcy discourage Mr. Bingley from pursuing Jane? Surely not! The two were very clearly attached now. Anyone could see it. She told herself to stop fretting about things she could not control and gave herself one last look in the mirror before heading down to dinner. She was wearing her best dress—she needed the confidence it lent her.
She entered the drawing room only a few minutes before dinner was announced and did not even see Mr. Darcy until he escorted Miss Bingley to the dining room. Surprisingly, Mr. Hurst offered Elizabeth his arm and seated her next to himself. He was an undemanding dinner companion, and for once, she was happy to be seated beside him.
She was lost in her own thoughts for the first two courses—Miss Bingley never served fewer than three—and barely touched her food in the third. She saw that Jane was seated next to Mr. Bingley and was cheerfully conversing with him. Otherwise, she was unobservant and barely participated in the conversation around her.
After dinner, Miss Bingley led the ladies out and as Elizabeth followed her, she noticed something strange about Miss Bingley’s gown. There was a beaded ribbon about the waist and it fell in two long strands down her back, the ends looking like tiny beaded tassels. Elizabeth had seen those ribbons before, but she could not remember where. It niggled at her mind as Mrs. Hurst played the pianoforte while the other ladies sat by the fire.
“Miss Elizabeth, you are quiet this evening,” said Miss Bingley.
“Forgive me. I am a little tired,” replied Elizabeth.
“I hope you are not getting your sister’s cold.” She looked truly horrified at the notion, and Elizabeth smiled inwardly, thinking that the last thing Miss Bingley would want was another Bennet sister falling ill at Netherfield.
“I am not ill, Miss Bingley.” She smiled at her hostess to reassure her. Something in her mind shifted, and Elizabeth had the sensation of having done this before—this exact conversation, in this room, with these ladies. She prodded at the thought, wondering if she had been part of a similar conversation with Miss Bingley, or perhaps she had seen that gown before.
“Your gown is remarkable, Miss Bingley. Is it new?” asked Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley sat up a little straighter, her pride in her wardrobe evident. “Yes, this is the first time I have worn it. Madame Bouffet quite outdid herself, did she not?” She smoothed her hand over the skirt of the gown. “She assured me this color was perfect for my complexion.”
“It is quite striking,” added Jane.
Elizabeth quickly turned to face her sister. Why had she known Jane would say that?
Elizabeth excused herself and pretended to look through the sheet music on a little table beside the pianoforte. Thankfully, Mrs. Hurst’s performance covered the sound of her rapid breathing. What was happening? She had led a perfectly peaceful life until Mr. Bingley took the lease at Netherfield. Now, she repeatedly found herself wrongfooted in the worst possible environments.
If she was correct—if she was in fact living the events of last night’s dream—Mr. Bingley would walk into the room all smiles and good cheer, Miss Bingley would suggest they set out the card table, and Bingley would say he would rather sit by the fire while smiling directly at Jane.
There were footsteps in the corridor. The door opened interminably slowly as Elizabeth held her breath. Mr. Bingley walked in first, all smiles and good humor. Darcy entered directly behind him, his face a grim mask, followed by Mr. Hurst.
“There you are! Shall I call for the card table?” asked Miss Bingley.
“If you wish,” said her brother, “but I would rather sit by the fire.” He smiled at Jane, and she beamed back at him.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath.
Everyone continued on as she knew they would, oblivious to her standing still as a statue beside the pianoforte, watching their movements as if she knew where they would step before they did. Because she did.
Elizabeth could only withstand the horror of knowing what was to come for another ten minutes before she claimed a headache and excused herself for the night. Jane offered to go up with her, but Elizabeth refused. She wished to be alone. She had to think; she had to make a plan.
The dream had not been a metaphor for her lost hopes. Netherfield would burn tonight.
As she walked to her room, Elizabeth made note of all the ways one could leave the house. There was the front door, of course, a set of French doors in the library, and another in the music room leading to a low terrace. There was a side door down a small corridor not far from the dining room. Below stairs, there was the servants’ entrance and another to the kitchens. She was aware of no others, though that did not mean there were none.
On the floor her chamber was on, there were two wings, though that was a generous term for the small halls leading to six chambers on either side. To the right of the stairs was the guest wing where she and Jane had linked chambers, and Mr. Darcy had a room across the hall and closer to the stairs. To the left of the main staircase was the family wing. Miss Bingley had the first chamber—tantamount to the room next to Mr. Darcy’s, and her sister was across the hall. Elizabeth was not sure which rooms Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst were in, but logic would put Mr. Hurst next to his wife.
As she turned into the guest wing, she calculated how long it would take her to reach each room. She reckoned she could make it to each door within a minute if all she had to do was pound on the door, but if the person within did not wake immediately, it could take considerably longer. What if they slept with the door locked? She imagined most of them did. Netherfield was a new house after all. It was filled with unfamiliar servants and guests. She was certain Mr. Darcy would lock his door—the Bingleys were not his family and Caroline Bingley was a determined woman.
Elizabeth’s head began to ache with all the plans she was making. If only there was some sort of alarm bell in place! She could ring it like a servants’ bell and the entire house would wake. The servants! Many of them would be sleeping on the upper levels. They would be the most difficult to reach in a fire. Elizabeth replayed the dream in her mind, trying desperately to remember where the fire had started, but she could not recall.
She remembered being in the drawing room after dinner, going up to bed rather late with the other ladies, and then waking sometime late in the night. There was a mad rush for everyone to get outside. She saw Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley huddled together beneath a blanket. Mr. Bingley was there, tending to Miss Bennet and covered in soot. Where was Mr. Hurst?
She squeezed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to look around in her memory. There! He sat on the ground beneath a tree, covered in soot like his brother.
Perhaps the men had helped get everyone out?
She looked up in the dream and watched the house. All of Netherfield was alight. There was no room untouched, no window flames did not pour out of. It was impossible to see where it had begun or see what would still be standing in the morning. She continued to look around. One more familiar face was yet unaccounted for. Where was Mr. Darcy?
She looked about in her mind and saw the servants, the housekeeper and butler, but no Mr. Darcy. The stable was a good distance from the house, but the grooms had brought out all the horses and released them into the pasture that stretched all the way to Longbourn’s border. Perhaps he was seeing to the animals? She knew he was particularly fond of his horse, a dappled grey gelding.
Elizabeth thought she might snap from the energy thrumming through her body as she paced the length of her chamber. She could find Mr. Darcy nowhere in her memory, and the fire raged out of control in her dream. There was only one thing she could do. She must stay awake and make sure everyone made it out of the house safely. If she could stop the fire before it spread, that would be even better.