Chapter Twenty
Fitzwilliam Darcy never did make the journey to Longbourn he had planned with such anxious care.
For several days, he occupied himself with imagining the interview.
At one moment he was perfectly certain that Mr Bennet would receive him with civility; at the next he became convinced he should be dismissed before he had managed to speak half a dozen sentences.
Elizabeth, who appeared to derive an unaccountable pleasure from these fluctuations of confidence, assured him that her father generally reserved his severest wit for those he liked best. Darcy found the observation only moderately comforting.
In the event, however, the matter was taken entirely out of his hands.
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Jane had passed a very agreeable half hour in the drawing room at Netherfield.
Or perhaps agreeable was too generous a description.
It was certainly agreeable to find herself once more in Mr Bingley's company. He had greeted her with unaffected pleasure that she could not help believing the past week had been every bit as tedious for him as it had for herself. The recent storms that had delayed Elizabeth’s arrival in London had also hit Hertfordshire, and for the first time in many days, they had been able to enjoy a quiet conversation.
The remainder of the company was rather less easy, despite the invitation to join the company being issued by Miss Bingley herself.
Jane immediately reproached herself for the thought.
She had always wished to think well of everybody and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst had shown her every civility during her illness.
Yet there was a sharpness to their conversation that she had not formerly perceived.
Scarcely a neighbour or acquaintance could be mentioned without becoming the subject of some unkind observation.
Jane found herself wondering, not without discomfort, what was said of her and her own family when they were no longer present to hear it.
Perhaps, she reflected with reluctant honesty, Elizabeth had judged them more accurately than she.
Mr Bingley had just been entertaining her with an animated account of a young spaniel which had somehow conceived itself to be a horse.
The little creature had taken to following the stable lads about and accompanying every ride, galloping furiously alongside the hunters until exhaustion obliged somebody to carry it home.
Mr Bingley's talent for telling a story lay not in wit but enthusiasm, and Jane found herself laughing almost as much at the delight with which he related the adventure as at the adventure itself.
"The fellow has even attempted to eat oats from the feed trough," he said with perfect seriousness. "He cannot imagine why the horses are so much taller than he is."
Jane laughed. "Perhaps he merely believes himself rather young."
"That must be it," Bingley agreed at once. "Given another year he fully expects to grow to sixteen hands."
Caroline looked up from the embroidery frame that rested upon her lap, her eyes narrowing as they often did before she released one of her more venomous pronouncements. "It is quite extraordinary, Charles, how entertaining you find even the smallest occurrence."
"I generally discover life improves if one looks for the amusing parts," he replied cheerfully.
"It also prevents one from dwelling too much upon unpleasant realities."
There was something in her tone that caused Jane to glance up. Mrs Hurst, who had appeared absorbed in a novel, lowered it just enough to exchange a fleeting look with her sister.
"What realities are those?" asked Bingley lightly.
"Oh, nothing of consequence," said Caroline, selecting another skein of silk with studied artlessness. "Only the latest intelligence from Meryton. Though perhaps Miss Bennet has heard it already."
Jane looked from one sister to the other. "I do not believe I have heard any intelligence of late."
Mrs Hurst laid aside her novel with evident satisfaction. "It concerns your sister, Miss Eliza."
The slight emphasis she placed upon Elizabeth's name made Jane instinctively uneasy. She thought of Lizzy’s tearful confession after she returned from Netherfield and prayed that the story of her interaction with Mr Darcy had not spread beyond the library.
Mr Bingley, glanced quickly towards his sisters. "Louisa," he said, with a warning look, "I hope you are not about to repeat some idle nonsense from Meryton."
"Oh, Charles, you are forever accusing us of malice where none exists." Caroline set her embroidery neatly beside her chair and laughed a small hollow laugh. "Indeed, there is no need to rely upon Meryton at all. We have somebody in the house who witnessed the whole affair."
She stood and rang the bell. When a footman appeared, she asked with perfect politeness, "Would you ask Polly to step in for a moment?"
Jane frowned, horrified by the request, whilst Bingley's expression hardened. Before either could object, the little housemaid appeared upon the threshold, bobbing an uncertain curtsey.
"You wished to see me, miss?"
"Yes, Polly." Caroline's tone was all sweetness.
"Mrs Hurst and I were speaking of that curious evening when you surprised Miss Elizabeth and Mr Darcy in the library.
I was saying that the townspeople have embroidered the story beyond all recognition, and that nobody could give a better account than the person who was actually present. "
The colour rose at once in Polly's cheeks. "I do not know as there is much to tell, miss."
"Nonsense. Pray satisfy our curiosity." Miss Bingley’s tone was sharper now.
The girl looked from one face to another, plainly wishing herself anywhere else. At last she spoke with obvious reluctance. "I only opened the library door, miss. Mr Jones and I had gone to see that the fire was safe for the night."
"And what did you find?" asked Mrs Hurst.
"Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were there together, ma'am."
"Alone?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Jane tried for an easy smile. "My sister is forever in search of books. I daresay she had been unable to sleep."
Polly nodded eagerly. "I expect that was it, miss."
Caroline's smile did not alter in the slightest. "And Mr Darcy? Was he also searching for a novel?"
Polly hesitated. "I could not rightly say, miss."
"But he was standing close to Miss Elizabeth?"
"Well... yes, miss."
"And his hand was upon her?"
The poor girl shifted uneasily beneath the attention now fixed upon her. "Only upon her arm, miss. At least... I believe it was."
Mrs Hurst exchanged an expressive glance with her sister.
"I confess that is rather more intimate than one generally expects to discover in a gentleman's library."
Jane's tried again to diffuse the situation. "I am quite certain there is some innocent explanation," she said, her voice unnaturally high.
"I have no doubt you wish to think so," Caroline replied smoothly. "Unfortunately, servants notice everything, and servants talk. The story has travelled so far that many people now appear persuaded Miss Eliza was rather less reserved with Mr Darcy than a young lady ought to have been."
Polly gave a little cry of distress. "Oh no, miss! It was never like that."
Every eye in the room turned towards her. The poor girl twisted her apron so tightly in her hands that the fabric was almost wrung between her fingers.
"I only mentioned it to my sister," she said hurriedly.
"She asked how things were at Netherfield and I told her I'd walked into the library one evening and surprised Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.
I never said there was anything improper.
Indeed, I thought..." She faltered, glancing anxiously towards Jane.
"Well, I thought perhaps they might have come to an understanding. "
Jane looked at her with bewilderment. "You believed Mr Darcy intended to marry my sister?"
Polly coloured scarlet. "It looked to me as though he thought the world of her, miss.
Begging your pardon. I've never seen a gentleman look at a lady quite like that.
" She swallowed. "I never imagined folk would make something ugly of it.
I never meant any harm to Miss Elizabeth.
I'd sooner have bitten my tongue than brought trouble upon her. "
Before Jane could answer, Caroline gave a light laugh. "You see, Charles? Even the servants fancied there was something between them." She added in an undertone, "Or more likely that she threw herself upon him.”
Bingley rose so abruptly that his chair scraped across the polished floor.
"No, Caroline," he said, his good humour evaporated.
"What I see is a young woman who repeated an innocent observation to her sister, never imagining it would travel farther than the servants' hall, and another who has chosen to repeat it in a manner calculated to wound Miss Bennet. "
Caroline stared at him. "Charles—"
"No." He seldom interrupted anybody, and the firmness of the word startled all of the occupants of the parlour.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet has always conducted herself with propriety whilst under this roof.
Mr Darcy is the most honourable gentleman I have ever known.
I will hear neither of them spoken of in this fashion. "
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
Polly, looking thoroughly miserable, dropped another hurried curtsey. "I am so sorry, Miss Bennet. Truly I am. I never meant any harm."
Jane managed a faint smile despite the ache that had settled in her chest. "I know you did not, Polly."
The maid withdrew with evident relief, closing the door softly behind her.
Caroline reached once more for her embroidery, though her fingers shook just a little. "You make a great deal of a very trifling matter, Charles."
"Do I?" Bingley replied. "A lady's reputation has never appeared a trifling matter to me."
Jane rose before either sister could answer. She felt suddenly unequal to remaining another moment beneath their roof. "You must excuse me," she said quietly. "I believe I ought to return home."
"Miss Bennet—" began Caroline, though whether from politeness or a desire to repair the situation Jane could not have said.
Bingley was already on his feet. "I shall accompany you."
Jane looked up in surprise. "Pray do not trouble yourself."
"It is no trouble."
There was a steadiness in his voice which allowed no argument.
He rang the bell himself, instructed that the carriage should be brought round and requested that one of Miss Bingley's maids accompany Miss Bennet home.
Only when those arrangements had been made did he hand Jane into the carriage, taking the seat opposite, and leaving the maid to occupy the smaller folding seat beside the door
For some minutes neither spoke. The carriage rolled quietly through the Hertfordshire lanes, the familiar hedgerows passing unnoticed beyond the windows. Jane kept her hands folded tightly together in her lap, afraid that if she attempted to speak her composure would fail her altogether.
At length Bingley broke the silence. "Miss Bennet, I hope you know that I do not credit a syllable of what has just been said."
Jane managed a faint smile. "You are very good."
He shook his head. "No. I simply know both your sister and Darcy too well. Whatever Polly happened upon that evening, I would stake my fortune that neither of them behaved in a manner unworthy of themselves."
Jane looked down at her gloves. "I only wish the rest of Meryton possessed your confidence."
Bingley's expression grew thoughtful. "Perhaps they soon shall."
She looked up. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated only briefly. "Miss Bennet, I think it best that I speak to your father myself. He ought to hear exactly what occurred this afternoon before the story reaches Longbourn by less reliable means."
Jane regarded him for a moment before giving a grateful nod. "Thank you."
Neither spoke again until the carriage turned beneath the familiar trees at Longbourn. Before the horses had fully drawn to a halt, Hill had already appeared in the doorway, alerted by the sound of wheels upon the gravel.
Bingley descended first and offered Jane his hand. Seeing the concern upon both their faces, Hill's welcoming smile faltered.
"Mr Bennet is in his book room, sir," she said. "Shall I let him know you have arrived?"
Bingley glanced towards Jane. "If you please. I believe we have something of importance to tell him."
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Mr Bennet listened throughout without interruption. His face revealed very little, save that once or twice his fingers tapped thoughtfully against the arm of his chair. When Bingley had repeated the conversation almost word for word, silence settled over the book room.
At length Mr Bennet looked up. "You do not believe a word of it, Mr Bingley?"
Bingley answered without hesitation. "Not in the sense my sister intended it, sir. I know Darcy. Whatever Polly saw that evening, I would answer for it that he behaved as a gentleman should."
Mr Bennet regarded him for a moment before giving a slow nod. "That is rather what I suspected."
He rose and wandered towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.
"The Frosts told me it was Mr Darcy who found Lizzy after the flood.
They spoke of his kindness with considerable warmth.
" He was quiet for a moment. "Now, scarcely a week later, I find the same gentleman once again attached to my daughter's name. "
He turned back to face them both. "I have lived for many years, Mr Bingley, and I have discovered that coincidences are remarkably uncommon."
Jane looked up anxiously. "Papa?"
He smiled at her, though it was a thoughtful smile rather than an amused one. "I do not believe the gossip, my dear. Indeed, I suspect the truth is infinitely more respectable than Miss Bingley—or any of our neighbours—imagines." He paused. "But I also suspect there is a good deal I do not know."
Jane lowered her eyes. "Lizzy has written very little about the journey and the troubles she faced."
"Precisely. Your sister generally fills four pages where half of one would suffice. If her letter says very little, it is because she has chosen to say very little. Lizzy does not conceal things without a reason."
He reached for the bell. "And I have no intention of discovering that reason through the drawing rooms of Meryton."