Chapter 2
CONSPICUOUS BY ITS ABSENCE
“You are looking happier today,” Bromley said, upon greeting Whitby. The women usually took dinner together, and both looked forward to this part of their day. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?”
“I did,” Whitby replied. “Miss Bingley gave me four of her nicer gowns to mend, a task I enjoy, and left me alone with it. Usually when she has a lengthy, time-consuming chore for me, she seems to find pleasure in interrupting me every ten minutes. After a series of disruptions, she likes to ask me how little I have accomplished and question why I am so slow, and I must suppress the urge to poke her with a needle.”
Bromley chuckled. “Mrs Hurst said that her sister spent all the afternoon in the stillroom. It must have kept her busy enough that she had no time for interference.”
“The stillroom?” Whitby found this to be nearly impossible to believe. Never once, in the many months she had lived with her, had Miss Bingley shown any predilection for concocting lotions or potions or herbals. “Did Mrs Hurst say what her sister found so fascinating in there?”
Bromley shrugged. “She said she was working out the receipt for a new cordial.”
Cordials? It was true that Miss Bingley found the little after-dinner drinks restorative, even medicinal, and drank one at bedtime each night—but she relied upon Mrs Nicholls for the creation of them.
Whitby was quite certain Miss Bingley had never devised a recipe herself for anything at all, much less her favoured liqueurs.
She could not say why she found this information incredible, or why her mind reverted to the small puzzle again and again.
After her dinner, she returned to her duties in Miss Bingley’s dressing room.
After finishing the last of the mending, she placed the finished underskirt on the top shelf of one of the wardrobes.
Suddenly, she recalled that this was where that bottle of laudanum had been placed.
Not wanting to disturb it, she felt along the shelf to ensure it did not topple; nothing was there.
Curious, she fetched a stool to take a more thorough look. There was no question; the brown bottle of laudanum was missing. Why? What had Miss Bingley done with it? Why had she been so secretive with it in the first place?
Surely she would not try to poison Miss Bennet with extra doses of the remedy? The sudden thought, coming apropos of nothing, made her laugh, it was so ridiculous.
I must cease reading those adventure novels young Edwin loves, she told herself.
Nevertheless, she found herself visiting the invalid’s chamber—empty now, as Miss Bennet had joined the company downstairs this evening.
There remained a half-empty teapot and cups that had not yet been cleared.
Removing the lid, she sniffed it. It smelled only of tea.
She laughed again, at herself for her silly suppositions.
Nonetheless, the little puzzle of the stillroom was added to the mystery of the missing laudanum, and once her other duties had been completed for the evening, she inexplicably found herself aiming to resolve at least one of them: What had occupied her mistress for so long this afternoon?
The stillroom was spotlessly clean, with no evidence remaining of whatever this room had been used for today.
Why? she wondered. Why would Miss Bingley, of all people, spend hours in a room she has hitherto ignored?
Opening cupboards, peering within each without even having any idea for what she searched, Whitby quickly decided that her own imagination was at fault.
She set aside her fanciful thinking and turned to leave before looking through all of them.
But on her way out the door, she saw the cabinet nearest it was not quite latched.
Opening it the rest of the way, she lifted her candle higher to better see within.
There, behind a dusty tin, she spotted a large bottle identical to that of the laudanum.
Lifting it, she saw it was nearly empty.
The other had been full, she was certain, when in the wardrobe.
She smelled the contents, and again, was certain it was laudanum.
Was this the same bottle? Or another? It was not dusty, like the rest of the cabinet’s contents.
It made no sense. But then, nothing did—not Miss Bingley’s interest in the stillroom nor her own curiosity regarding Miss Bingley’s actions.
With a sigh, she replaced the bottle and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.
I believe I know only one. Mr Darcy had not meant what he said as it sounded, Elizabeth decided.
She could not understand how he did mean it…
probably that his standards of judgment for females were so high, there would be hardly one capable of meeting them.
The only thing she was certain of was that she was not the woman of whom he spoke.
After all, he is not in the habit of lending his almighty, marvellous consequence to young ladies slighted by other men!
His insult upon their first almost-meeting rankled still.
But he had flustered her, and it irritated her that he had been able to do it.
Perhaps he was a rogue who flirted and flustered for amusement!
Although she did not truly believe that either…
he was too fusty and yes, too respectable to act in such a manner.
It was doubtless why he had said it, not realising how it could possibly be received.
The next evening, when he pretended to ask her for a reel, she again was slightly flummoxed. She had assumed he mocked her, and perhaps he had. But she had challenged him to despise her and he had made a point of refusing.
He was trying to be less predictable, perhaps. He had also spoken kindly regarding a letter received from an eccentric cousin, a Mrs Thomasina Darcy.
“Thomasina has returned from her recent travels to Egypt with some scholarly companions,” he said, in response to Miss Bingley’s repeated enquiries regarding the letter he was trying to read.
“Egypt! Why, how fascinating!” she had replied. “I am amazed at her adventurous spirit!”
What she meant, Elizabeth had known from the aghast look Miss Bingley promptly exchanged with her sister, was her ‘improper, morally deranged’ spirit.
“She does love a good adventure, and is to be admired for it. She tells of surviving a sudden desert sandstorm by making use of two lifeless donkeys, canvas, and three tent stakes as a shield. Her companions had given her up for dead, but she emerged a day later none the worse for wear, she says, except for a pungent perfume which she refers to as ‘an aggravation of asses’.”
Even now, hours later, Elizabeth wanted to giggle—both at Mr Darcy’s dry recounting of his cousin’s escapades, and the horrified expressions of her hostesses.
I must stop thinking of him! He is nothing to me, and I wish only that Jane would recover quickly and he would return to his blue-blooded circles and cease to perplex me!
This very day, she had been awarded at least one of her wishes—Jane’s health had improved markedly, even to the point that she could join the company after dinner.
Once again, Elizabeth found herself bewildered by Mr Darcy—first by another slightly flirtatious remark, although this one was directed at both her and Miss Bingley, who was inexplicably more gracious than usual.
As the night wore on, he engaged her more often; when she accused him of hating everybody, he accused her of wilfully misunderstanding him.
She nearly asked him then and there to explain himself…
but as she opened her mouth to do so, Miss Bingley called for a servant to bring in a tray of warmed cordials.
Relief filled her; it meant the evening was nearly over, although escape had been offered earlier than usual—this was Miss Bingley’s final ritual before everyone found their beds.
Mr Darcy was sitting right beside her now, and his presence seemed nearly overwhelming.
With Jane almost recovered, she should soon not have to endure much more of the disordered thinking he managed to inspire.
“Here, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley offered immediately. “I recall how much you admired Mrs Nicholls’s spice cordial last week, and I have improved upon the recipe.”
“I think I would prefer to have tea, thank you,” he replied.
“Oh, but it is the nicest tasting cordial you will have ever had.” Her tone was almost pitifully pleading. “Besides which, it will strengthen the belly and lead to the best night’s sleep of your life.”
Elizabeth could see that Mr Darcy was about to refuse again, and she felt a sudden surge of anger towards him. After all, what was the harm in pleasing Miss Bingley in this small fashion? He was just so contrary!
“It sounds like a wonderful drink, Mr Darcy,” she said. “I think most would try it, when our hostess has gone to such effort to please.”
Miss Bingley gave Elizabeth a look that could only be described as cold in the extreme. Her lips pinched, and her eyes narrowed. “Of course, if he does not wish to have it, I would not like him to,” she snapped.
Mr Darcy directed a stare at Miss Bingley that was precisely the opposite of polite. “Since Miss Elizabeth suggests it, I think I will drink it, after all.”
He had purposely enraged his hostess, and used her to do it. Obstinate, headstrong man!