Chapter Two
Though Elizabeth had hoped to leave the next day, she soon found it could not be so.
The note dispatched home to request that the carriage should be sent for them soon received a reply, but not a favourable one.
Mrs Bennet, who could see nothing good in any arrangement that brought her daughter away from an eligible suitor one moment sooner than she had planned, said it was not to be had for the next few days.
But where Mrs Bennet was happy to impose on Mr Bingley’s hospitality, her daughters were not.
Over supper, Jane requested Mr Bingley’s aid and received his agreement with as much eagerness as she could have wished.
Mr Bingley, who would have gladly hosted both sisters as long as they wished to stay, was still more glad to have the opportunity of doing Jane a service.
The Netherfield carriage would therefore convey Jane and Elizabeth to Longbourn the following morning.
Jane, who had spent the better part of a week apologising for the inconvenience of being ill, accepted this with an equal measure of gratitude and relief.
By nine o’clock, the house had grown quiet.
Before retiring, Mr Bingley had said good night with every evidence of genuine regret.
By contrast, his sisters had said good night with every evidence of relief that the obligation was nearly discharged, and Mr Darcy had inclined his head with the composed courtesy he brought to all things, conveying perfect civility and a perfect absence of warmth.
Elizabeth had thanked them all in turn, climbed the stairs, and knocked at her sister’s door.
She found Jane seated at the dressing-table and already in her dressing gown, her hair loose about her shoulders.
Elizabeth saw with relief that her colour had nearly returned to normal.
The room had been made comfortable for the night.
A good fire blazed heartily in the grate, the curtains were drawn against the November dark, and a candle flickered at the bedside.
All the same, Elizabeth thought, it was the sort of room that had nothing the matter with it and yet would never feel quite like home, in the same way that a borrowed coat may be excellent and still not fit exactly right.
Jane looked up from the glass when Elizabeth came in and smiled at her sister.
Elizabeth smiled back, grateful both for Jane’s customary appreciation of her company and for this evidence of her returning health.
The Jane of two days before would have been too weak to be sitting up at the dressing-table, and could only have attempted a smile.
“You look very much better,” Elizabeth said, sitting on the end of the bed and looking at her sister with satisfaction. “Another day, and you shall look quite well.”
“I nearly feel it,” Jane said. She turned from the glass and settled into the chair by the fire, tucking her feet beneath her. “I am sorry it has been so long. I hope the week has not been too tedious for you.”
“Not in the least. I have had excellent company.” Elizabeth paused. “Your own, chiefly.”
Jane tilted her head questioningly. “And the others? I hope you have not found it disagreeable.”
Elizabeth smiled a little ruefully. “Mr Bingley is everything you said he was, and possibly more. I have rarely met a man whose goodwill is so effortless and so gladly given. I like him very much.” She pulled her knee up and studied the fire. “He asked after you four times yesterday. I counted.”
The colour that had returned to Jane’s cheeks deepened a shade. She said nothing aloud, but the quality of her silence spoke volumes.
“As for the rest,” Elizabeth continued, “Mrs Hurst is as elegant as we thought on a first meeting, but I confess I should like her rather better with somewhat more softness in her manner. Mr Hurst is perfectly inoffensive when he is asleep, which is frequent. And Mr Darcy reads a great deal and says very little.” She paused, considering for a moment.
“He is not quite what I thought of him at the Meryton assembly. He is proud, I believe, but it sits differently on closer acquaintance. Less like contempt and more like a sort of armour, perhaps. He is not easy to know.”
“Mr Darcy has been civil, then,” Jane offered.
“He has been composed,” Elizabeth said judiciously.
It was not quite the same thing, and Jane knew it as well as she did.
“But I admit I think better of him than I expected to.” She smiled in private amusement as she said the words and silently congratulated herself for being so amiable towards the man who had snubbed her so thoroughly.
Over the course of the week, she had gathered other observations about Mr Darcy, all with the half-conscious industry of a mind that collects details whether it means to or not, but Elizabeth did not intend to share them with her sister.
“And Miss Bingley?” Jane asked after a moment.
Elizabeth turned from the fire and searched her sister’s face. She was silent for a long moment before speaking. “I hardly know what to say,” she said at last, “other than that I have had a most instructive week.”
Elizabeth said it lightly, in the tone that presaged the discussion of greater or lesser follies in someone or other of their acquaintance. Jane recognised it at once, her expression taking on a curious mixture of amusement, concern, and resignation.
“What can you mean by that? Do be serious, Lizzy.”
“I believe I have discerned something curious about Miss Bingley, though I do not know how serious it is.”
Jane blinked in mild surprise. “You have discovered something curious about Miss Bingley? But she is so very elegant.”
“Indeed she is, but not free from peculiarities.”
“My dear Lizzy, what can she have done? She is not a lady of open and easy temperament, perhaps, but you must not judge her for that. She has never been less than civil.”
Elizabeth shook her head and laughed a little ruefully. “Civil, certainly. But calculation may wear civility as its finest cloak.”
Jane’s brow furrowed slightly. “You think her calculating?”
“I do,” Elizabeth confirmed. “You spoke in favour of Miss Bingley’s civility. Though I have little confidence in the sincerity of her friendship, it is not that which I find curious, but another matter entirely. Have you noticed her attentions toward Mr Darcy?”
Jane smiled faintly. “It is no secret that she admires him.”
“Admires?” Elizabeth echoed. “My dear Jane, admiration is quiet, and does not pursue its object from room to room. It does not contrive to be seated at his elbow at every meal. Admiration does not solicit his opinion on books it has never read.”
Jane’s lips curved, though her eyes kept their seriousness. “You exaggerate.”
“Only slightly.” Elizabeth paused, then continued more thoughtfully.
“It is not merely that she wishes to secure his regard. That is natural enough, for whatever criticisms one might have of Mr Darcy as a companion, no one could deny his eligibility on the marriage mart. But Miss Bingley’s actions go beyond what I should have expected — nearly past what could be considered ladylike.
There is something almost manipulative in her studied interruptions, her peacocking at the pianoforte and laughter that anticipates his wit before it is uttered. ”
Jane shook her head gently. “You must be mistaken. Miss Bingley may be eager, but surely she cannot be scheming.”
Elizabeth turned toward her and crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you know it if she were?”
Jane met her gaze steadily. “Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But I prefer to believe well of others until I have clear proof to the contrary.”
Elizabeth smiled fondly, yet with a trace of exasperation. “A most benevolent belief. But I believe actions speak more plainly than protestations.”
Jane reached for her hand. “Lizzy, consider how easily behaviour may be misinterpreted. A young woman in society must show interest where she hopes for connection. If she is reserved, she is deemed cold. If she is animated, she is deemed calculating. Is that fair?”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. She squeezed her sister’s hand. It was hard to be vexed by someone whose view of the world was so pure. “No. But fairness does not always guide society’s judgement.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Miss Bingley may yet face society’s judgement, if her flirtations grow much more obvious. I am certain Mr Darcy does not care for them. That much is evident from the shortness and disinterest of his replies.”
Jane considered this. “And yet he does not discourage her.”
“Because to discourage her openly would be ungentlemanly. Miss Bingley is his host’s sister, after all.”
Jane smiled. “Then surely he feels no great distress. Such attentions must be flattering, after all.”
Elizabeth gave her a searching look. “Flattering, or merely tiresome? I certainly would not welcome a continuation of attentions when I had shown no interest. Nor would you. Indeed, it rather makes me think of old Mr Greenbaum, back when you were sixteen and he six-and-forty.”
At this, Jane could only laugh and shake her head.
“You are quite right, Lizzy, of course. That was tiresome indeed. I am only glad Father did not wish me to accept, for I suppose it would have been a good match, viewed in a purely prudential light. But surely Miss Bingley does not mean to be tiresome. She only means to keep hope alive as long as she can.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment, carefully considering this. “And if hope disregards another’s comfort?”
“Then it is misguided,” Jane replied gently. “But still not malicious.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Jane, you are determined to rescue everyone from my censure.”
Jane’s smile deepened. “And you are determined to rescue everyone from my indulgence.”
They laughed together softly, yet the question remained.
“Even if Miss Bingley does admire Mr Darcy a little too strongly, or with too much intent to be entirely pleasing, what harm is done? He is free to accept or decline her favour,” said Jane.
Elizabeth looked toward the window, where the night pressed softly against the glass. “Harm lies not only in the outcome,” she said. “It lies in pressure. In shaping one’s conduct to create an appearance.”
Jane tilted her head. “I do not think I quite follow you.”
“It is likely nothing,” Elizabeth hastened to say. “Only I cannot help thinking that is dangerous when someone, anyone, tries to create the appearance of a thing. Society may then believe it to be true, whether or not there is anything behind it.”
Jane regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you really think society is so easily led?”
“I believe it can be. Consider this week. You are here because Mama wished it. Your illness was real, yet it was also… useful.”
Jane flushed. “You cannot mean —”
“I mean only that circumstance may serve intention. That is all.” Seeing her sister’s distress, she hurried on. “Oh, do not let me worry you, Jane! Likely, I am speculating over nothing. Society can take care of itself — and likewise so can Caroline Bingley and Mr Darcy.”
Jane’s expression softened with affection. “I am sure that is so. And if it is, we need not worry over it.” Outside, the wind stirred faintly against the eaves. Within, the fire crackled steadily, casting shifting light upon their faces and bringing out strange shadows.
Elizabeth said good night to Jane and went to her own room, and thought, as she unpinned her hair, that she ought to follow her sister’s advice. She would do well to spend more of her efforts in viewing others with charity, and less in judging them.
As she slipped into bed, she felt again the faint unease that had lingered beneath her observations all week, despite Jane’s gentle correction of her harsh opinions. Something was wrong, though she could not have said what.
But likely she was being foolish, Elizabeth told herself.
Jane was right. None of it was hers to worry over.
If Caroline Bingley harboured ambitions, they would reveal themselves plainly enough, and Mr Darcy would choose whether or not to make her an offer — though from all she had observed, Elizabeth suspected the answer would be ‘not’. He could hardly be made to marry her.
She pushed the thoughts away. Such speculation truly was meaningless, for it had nothing to do with her in any case. On that thought, more reassuring than any other could be, Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.