Chapter Twenty-One
By the time the twenty-third of September arrived, Mr. Bingley was more than ready to leave London.
He had been on tenterhooks all of the past week, listening to Mr. Hurst speak wistfully of shooting.
Mr. Bingley prayed that the man did not take it into his head to accompany him to Netherfield Park, as it was then likely that Mrs. Hurst would go with her husband, and then of course Caroline would immediately join in, and poor Darcy would be made uncomfortable after all.
But fortune was with Mr. Bingley, and as he climbed into his carriage, his family simply waved him off with reminders to write. He chuckled with glee and pounded his fist on his leg as the carriage drove off.
His valet, Gibbs, smiled at his employer. “It was a near thing more than once, was it not, sir?”
“It certainly was! I owe you thanks, Gibbs, for whispering in Nancy’s ear!” Mr. Bingley said, leaning back against the cushions with a deep sigh of relief.
Nancy was Miss Bingley’s maid, and she had listened in horror to Gibbs’ dire predictions of the filth of the countryside, and the endless work this would cause Nancy.
Petticoats six inches deep in mud! Half-boots soiled beyond recognition!
Gloves stained by all manner of greenery!
Nancy had, inevitably, done her best to drop broad hints to her mistress as to the unsuitability of the country for anyone aspiring to a higher social status.
Mr. Bingley had sent a message to Braddock as to his arrival date, along with funds to purchase any necessities, and the butler had responded with a brief note saying that the kitchen would be fully stocked upon his arrival and that his room was prepared for him.
And Mr. Bingley had also sent a quick note to Darcy, telling him that he was off to Netherfield; Darcy had immediately sent a return note, promising again to join him shortly.
In just half an hour, the carriage had passed through London and was out on the open road. Mr. Bingley rapped on the carriage door, and his coachman obligingly stopped. “Come out, Gibbs,” Mr. Bingley said.
The two men climbed out of the carriage, and Mr. Bingley inhaled sharply. “Take a deep breath, Gibbs! There! Is not the air sweeter already?”
Gibbs obeyed, and agreed that the air was a good deal sweeter. That said, he could not help but notice that there really was a good deal of dirt about, and he would doubtless be spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning his master’s shoes and trousers.