7. Netherfield Park—7 December 1809
Darcy was quite astounded by how much he disliked his friend’s younger sister.
He had met Charles Bingley at Eton, and he had been pleased to find a friend of integrity, someone who never sought to take advantage of Darcy’s wealth or connexions.
Bingley was younger and occasionally asked for advice—but thankfully not investment advice.
In addition to Bingley’s admirable character, he had a lightness of spirit and unfailing affability that Darcy lacked.
Darcy had known Bingley’s elder sister for several years. She had married another acquaintance from Eton, Gerard Hurst. Darcy felt no special affinity with either Mr or Mrs Hurst, but he certainly did not dislike either of them.
But Miss Caroline Bingley was an altogether different matter.
She was cloying and covetous and manipulative, and she had no apparent interests other than the gaudy display of wealth and mean-spirited gossip. How any set of parents could raise children to be such polar opposites was mysterious.
Monday—and thus leaving Miss Bingley’s presence—could not come too soon.
Darcy had unsuspectingly agreed to greeting and taking tea with Miss Bingley when she first arrived, but after an hour of subjecting himself to Miss Bingley’s overblown and insincere praise for himself and her malicious whispers about members of the ton, Darcy felt like claiming a headache and asking for a tray for his dinner.
He did not wish to dishonour Bingley, however, so he steeled himself and returned to the drawing room to await the dinner bell.
Miss Bingley glided in shortly after his own arrival, and she clutched at his arm as she began to compliment his attire.
“I can see that you are not like so many young men these days, these coxcombs whose bright colours blind us even as their quizzing glasses convince us, as they use them to stare at someone a mere two feet away, that they themselves are going blind.”
Darcy was fairly certain he ought to make some response to the insults for some unspecified gentlemen bent to the purpose of praising his own clothing.
But could he actually say “thank you” to such a barbed compliment?
He nodded in a sort of acknowledgement of her words, deftly managed to step out of her grasp and walked to the window to look out over Netherfield Park, his hands clasped behind him in a way that would make it difficult for Miss Bingley to clutch his arm again.
She followed him, despite what he considered obvious steps to avoid her.
Miss Bingley asked him if he knew Lord Hawthorne, and although he had heard of him, he did not know him.
Despite his negative answer, she related several stories that were scathing in intent although light in details.
Repeatedly explaining that she could not really back her story with explicit facts, she claimed “it is too sordid to tell you in its entirety.”
The third time she uttered the refrain, Darcy interrupted, saying, “Since it is too awful to actually tell, and since I do not know the man concerned, nor care a whit for him, I beg you to desist.”
“Well, sir, in Town it is all anyone can speak of, I assure you. As a matter of fact, my dear friend Miss Havershim…”
Darcy did not listen well enough to know whether or not Miss Bingley had acceded to his wish to stop gossiping about Lord Hawthorne, and was now relating other rumours…
because he simply could not bear to listen to her.
He felt quite appalled that she would be hosting the dinner on Saturday, but then he chuckled as he realised that, in some ways, Miss Bingley was a younger and more fashionably dressed version of Mrs Bennet.
What would happen with the two of them in the same room, at the same dining table?
Miss Bingley fell silent the moment he laughed, and he cast a glance her way to see her expression.
She looked quite aggrieved and flounced away.
However, less than a quarter hour later, once they were seated for dinner, she resumed speaking to him—still complimenting him extravagantly, still circulating a piquant on dit here and a spicy tit-bit there.
He was both relieved and disappointed that she was not lastingly upset with his laughter.
Near the end of the meal, Bingley asked his sister if she needed any help planning Saturday’s dinner.
“Not at all, I assure you!” his sister said.
Bingley said, “Good, good, I knew I could count on you.”
“I have something truly spectacular planned,” she promised. “I am certain that your neighbours will have never seen the like.”
Darcy felt a bit worried. From seeing her excessively trimmed gown, he wondered about Miss Bingley’s taste level. “Do you suppose,” he asked his friend quietly, “that you should discuss this never-before-seen something, to ensure it is appropriate to your intent with hosting this dinner?”
He tried to suggest his anxiety with an eyebrow-wag, but Bingley was oblivious. “My sister is quite brilliant at hosting unique parties and entertainments,” he said.
Darcy still had misgivings, but he nodded his acquiescence.
For the next two days, Darcy worked diligently on his correspondence with his solicitor, his various stewards, and his banker.
He did so in a room that, he had discovered, overlooked the aviary, and when he saw Miss Elizabeth enter that building, he locked away his papers and then hurried down to visit with her while she fed and cared for her birds.
His efforts to spend a few minutes per day with the lady did not seem to shock any of the servants. Miss Elizabeth herself seemed pleased to have his company, and apparently neither Bingley nor his sister noticed Darcy’s daily exodus.
On Friday, Miss Elizabeth informed Darcy that her father had given her permission to go to London in his carriage.
“Morris, the maid who has arranged to accompany me, will be visiting her parents in Whitechapel, but my uncle should be able to send her to her house with his carriage after you take us to his house in Gracechurch Street.”
“I will be delighted to see you to your beloved relations. I will of course transport your maid to her parents if need be, but perhaps propriety is better served by your family transporting her thither.’
When Darcy spotted Miss Elizabeth entering the aviary on Saturday, and he breathlessly entered less than a minute later, Miss Elizabeth said, “I wonder who brought the blackbirds in.”
Darcy had been considering a particular dark curl that had escaped from its pins, but his breath caught in horror at her words. His eyes flew to hers, to see the direction of her gaze, and he wheeled around—and then breathed easier.
The blackbirds were in a separate cage, thank goodness. He could only imagine what would happen to the smaller songbirds if the blackbirds had been released into the aviary at large.
“I am sorry to have frightened you, Mr Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said.
“I am certain that Mr Mellin knows what to do regarding the care of the birds entrusted to him,” Darcy said with more hope than assurance.
Still, every indication of sensible arrangements and cleanliness argued for the man’s knowledge.
He went on, “If I had taken a moment to consider, I would have realised that no one would have been so foolish as to release birds into an aviary without speaking to the gamekeeper.”
“Well, I am nervous, because I had not heard about any new birds. I hope that these will not be long in residence here—after all, cage doors can accidentally become unlatched, as we know from the recent French-hen Invasion in Meryton.”
“Perhaps these colly birds will be baked up in a pie for tonight’s dinner, as was done centuries ago.” Darcy playfully bobbed his head from side to side to let Miss Elizabeth know that he was teasing.
“No…the meat of grown blackbirds would be tough and stringy—oh! Do you mean the visual spectacle type of birds-in-pie? Someone cuts the pie, and live birds fly out?”
“That is what I referenced,” Darcy said with a smile. “But I do not actually expect Miss Bingley to make such a risky attempt to entertain your family.”
“Risky as in droppings and feathers, or frantic birds flying into vases and glassware, or utter havoc as my sisters scream, the birds fly into windows and candle flames, and the entire evening goes up in smoke as Netherfield burns to the ground? Those sorts of risks?”
“Yes, and other droll, dreadful, or positively dire contingencies.”
Miss Elizabeth looked thoughtful as she nodded.
Then she said, “I note that there are not the four-and-twenty blackbirds of rhyme, but just four. But if one had a way of doing this sort of subtlety well, without all the risks, one would wish for only a small number of birds, which could be much more easily caught and caged than a number six times higher.”
“True.” Darcy chuckled. “Well, if any birds fly out of a pie, I shall attempt not to scream.”
Miss Elizabeth let out peals of laughter but soon controlled herself well enough to say, “I honestly cannot picture you screaming for any reason, sir.”
Darcy accompanied Miss Elizabeth in completing her daily tasks, and when they said their goodbyes, she said, “Farewell, fair sir. Please take care for the next five hours before I see you again—and I vow to you now that I, too, shall endeavour not to scream, no matter what our imaginative hostess has arranged.” Miss Elizabeth’s extraordinary eyes were filled with humour, and he smiled in response.