Chapter Fifty
As the Bennets traveled to Netherfield on Friday evening, Mr. Bennet noted that the carriage was unusually quiet.
He looked at his two youngest daughters, and saw that they were gazing out the carriage windows in silence.
Come to think of it, both Kitty and Lydia had been very quiet the past few days.
And also, come to think of it, Mrs. Bennet, Jane and Elizabeth had seemed to take some sort of grim humour in the unexpected tranquility.
He would have liked to know what had caused this change, but knew not how to ask.
But he was grateful for it, and grateful for the fact that they did not speak loudly nor exhibit any of their usual poor manners in the Netherfield drawing room. Indeed, everyone seemed quite amiable and good-natured, even the apparently dreadful Miss Bingley.
The dinner was far more pleasant than any of the participants had anticipated. Miss Bingley had curated the menu so that it was enjoyable, but not overwhelming. There was no ostentatious display nor overly frenchified sauces, as had been feared.
After dinner, Miss Bingley led the ladies into the drawing room. Miss Bingley played the pianoforte, and then said, “Miss Darcy, I imagine everyone here knows you to be the superior performer; might I beg you to play for us?”
Georgiana was happy to do so, and her performance was followed by Mary’s. Miss Bingley listened to Mary play with a surprised expression on her face, and then complimented her effusively when she was done. “That was marvelous,” she said, sincerity ringing in her voice. “How very well you play!”
“Georgiana and I often play together; she has helped me a good deal,” Mary said, quietly.
Miss Bingley then sat beside Mrs. Bennet. “I have given a good deal of thought to our conversation earlier this week,” she said, softly.
“Have you? I hope I was not too presumptuous, Miss Bingley; I just hated the idea of a young lady as pretty as yourself making the same mistake that I did.”
“No, you were quite right,” Miss Bingley said. “Right in every particular. I will go back to Town and find a husband who enjoys the same things that I do.”
“What are those things?”
“Dancing, going to the theatre, attending teas and suppers,” she said. Then she shrugged. “I suppose it all sounds very silly, does it not?”
“Not at all; if that is what you enjoy, then you should have no difficulty finding a gentleman in Town with similar interests. I can tell you from experience that being the mistress of an estate leaves little leisure for such things as that.”
Miss Bingley nodded. “I plan to go back to London in just a few days, but I will return for the wedding.”
“Wedding?”
“Well, yes; Charles and your eldest daughter.”
“You do not object?” Mrs. Bennet said, cautiously.
“Not at all; it is a step up for him, of course, and the two of them have very similar characters.”
“They certainly do,” Mrs. Bennet said, her face breaking into a wide smile. “Now if only he would ask her!”
***
The moment the ladies left the room, Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Bennet and said, “Your Mr. Collins hails from a little town called Atherstone. I have my solicitor searching the baptism records there.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I have little hope of finding inconsistencies in his birth; but it seems to me that this common recovery process may bear fruit. What happens next?”
“Well, next Mr. Stanley must ‘discover’ that the estate is entailed and so title cannot be transferred. Then I will sue you in court.”
Mr. Bennet winced. “I know that is what is required, but it sounds dreadful.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “I understand; but all you have to do is exactly nothing. Once the trial date is set and you do not appear, then the judge will award Longbourn to me.”
“When does Mr. Collins find out about all this?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Mr. Darcy chuckled, but it was a grim sound. “He must be informed of the situation once it is done; otherwise, he will come to claim his estate upon your passing and someone here would have to tell him that it was not his to claim.”
“So likely Mr. Philips.”
“If he is still alive, then yes; but otherwise that unpleasant task might fall to your wife or one of your daughters. Thus, as I say, it would be best to inform him and allow him to seek legal advice, and then express his rage or whatever reaction he will have in Kent, rather than here in Meryton.”
Mr. Bingley put in, “Darcy explained it all to me, and I can understand how it would sound rather frightening, Mr. Bennet. It is indeed a bold move.”
“Yes; you must take very great care of yourself, Mr. Darcy; do not die before gifting Longbourn back to me.” Mr. Bennet made a valiant attempt at humour.
“My solicitor knows of my intentions, and he would see it through, though it would be a rather slower process,” Mr. Darcy replied, smiling. “But do pray for my continued good health!”
Mr. Bennet began to rise, but Mr. Bingley put out a hand to stop him. “Mr. Bennet, while I have you here…” He seemed unable to continue and his face was tomato-red.
“Jane, is it?” Mr. Bennet said, smiling broadly.
“With your permission, sir,” Mr. Bingley said, hastily.
“You have it; the two of you will do well together.”
“I thank you, sir!” Mr. Bingley grinned so widely that Mr. Darcy briefly feared his face would split in two.
Mr. Bingley rose and headed to the drawing room to join the ladies. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet began to follow him, but Mr. Darcy took a moment to put a hand on Mr. Bennet’s shoulder. He murmured, “Do not fear, Mr. Bennet. I believe all will be well.”
The ladies looked up as the gentlemen walked in. Mr. Bingley noted his sister sitting with Mrs. Bennet; he nodded at her as he made his way to Miss Bennet, who welcomed him with a bright smile.
Mr. Darcy paused in the doorway. His sister was engrossed with Miss Mary; the two youngest Bennets were sitting quietly on a sofa, whispering together. He saw Miss Elizabeth glance up at him. There was just a hint of a frown before she pasted a smile on her face.
He wondered, yet again, what he had done to offend her. It disturbed him, as he liked her. In fact, he liked her very much. As he sat down beside her and felt his heart begin to pound faster, it occurred to him that he was very much in danger of falling in love with her.
“Have you enjoyed your evening, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, sitting beside her.
“I have, yes,” she replied. “I had not known that Miss Bingley played so well.”
“Ah, she performed for you, did she? Yes, she plays quite well.”
“Though not as well as your sister,” Elizabeth added.
“Well, no one plays as well as Georgiana. I am required to hold that opinion, as I am her brother,” he said, smiling.
“We are told that Beauty is brought by the judgement of the eye, so you are not wrong in feeling so,” Elizabeth agreed.
“You enjoy Shakespeare?”
“Enjoy Shakespeare? How is it possible not to do so?” Elizabeth said. “He is the master of the English language, is he not?”
“I think he invented a good deal of the language we speak today, so it is reasonable to regard him as a master, if not the master.”
“Who might compete for that title, then, in your view?”
“Perhaps Christopher Marlowe,” Mr. Darcy suggested. “It is a shame he died so young; his work would likely have equaled Shakespeare’s, had he not.”
“He was only nine and twenty when he died; is that not right?”
“Quite right, Miss Elizabeth.” He smiled at her, enjoying her quick understanding. When had he last met a young lady with whom he could have such a conversation!
Why did she not like him? He suddenly discovered that he had actually voiced that thought aloud! He reddened as she stared at him.
“Why do you think I do not like you, Mr. Darcy?” she said at last.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. “It is in your eyes when I sit beside you; but then we have such a good conversation, that I wonder if I am wrong.”
She was silent, and looked down at the floor. He began to think he should apologise for asking too personal a question, when she looked up and said, “I suppose it is because you remind me of my father.”
Of all the answers he had been expecting, this was the last. “Your father?” he repeated in astonishment.
“Yes.”
“But –“ He stopped. In what ways was he like Mr. Bennet? Bookish, educated, master of an estate. “There are similarities, I suppose,” he said at last. “But any educated master of an estate would have such qualities, would they not?”
“I suppose so,” she said. “I shall have to marry an uneducated merchant.”
“What a terrible waste that would be,” Mr. Darcy said at once. “What is it you do not like about your father?”
“This is hardly the place for such a conversation,” she replied.
“Then where is the place?” he found himself asking.
“Perhaps we will go for a walk one day,” she said, looking away.
“One day? You are putting me off, then.” He came to his senses with a visible start. “You are quite right to do so, as it is hardly my place to make such enquiries. I apologise, Miss Elizabeth.” He rose, bowed to her, and went to sit with Mary and Georgiana.
What on earth had possessed him, he wondered, as he listened to Mary and Georgiana discussing the different parts of Herr Beethoven’s latest wonder.
He had been unconscionably rude to Miss Elizabeth; he had no right whatsoever to ask such things.
But the knowledge that she did not like him, for she had confessed it outright, haunted him.
Haunted? More like distressed him. Saddened him.
His heart actually hurt, and he found himself rubbing his chest, as if that might ease the ache.
Georgiana was telling Mary about her summer at Rosings Park, and the miraculous cure that the new doctor had effected.
Feeling awkward sitting alone, and aware that she had wounded Mr. Darcy and should make amends, Elizabeth came to listen to Georgiana’s story.
“Little brown pills, ”Georgiana said. “My cousin took them three times a day, every day, with meals. And they worked wonders for her!”
“Oh, my!” Mary said. “What were they called?”
“Triticum!”
Elizabeth’s hand shot to her mouth; Mr. Darcy snorted.
“What is it, Brother?” Georgiana asked.
“They were doubtless just bits of bread, rolled up to look like pills,” he said.
“But why would you say that?” Georgiana demanded.
Elizabeth spoke, merriment shining from her eyes. “Because Triticum is the Latin word for wheat!”
Georgiana gasped. Then she looked at Elizabeth and said, “Do you know, I tried one once, though Aunt was angry at me for taking one of Anne’s special pills, and it tasted just like brown bread! To think how serious everyone was about those pills!”
“Did someone demand that the doctor prescribe something?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“Well, Anne told the doctor that Lady Catherine would not be happy if she was not given some medicine,” Georgiana recalled.
“That explains it,” Mr. Darcy said.
“I would never have guessed it really was just bread, though,” Georgiana said, ruefully.
“Latin does come in handy!” Elizabeth laughed.
Mr. Darcy looked at her, this lovely country girl who studied Latin; she looked at him. Their eyes locked, and then Elizabeth quickly looked away.