Chapter 7
After Bingley's return, Caroline Bingley and the Hursts remained at Netherfield for three days with two trunks, indolent company, and the moral force of an unpaid insult.
On the fourth day, the Netherfield carriage brought Caroline and Mrs. Hurst to Longbourn, with Bingley and Darcy riding beside it.
Mr. Hurst remained at Netherfield, a decision so sensible that Elizabeth almost admired him for it.
This gave Caroline the advantage of an audience and Elizabeth the disadvantage of not being able to pretend she had missed her.
Mrs. Bennet received her with delight sharpened by suspicion. Jane received her with courtesy softened by memory. Elizabeth received her as one receives a wasp near jam: calmly, but with a folded napkin ready.
"My dear Jane," Caroline cried, kissing the air near Jane's cheek. "How well you look. Country air has restored you entirely. London was so unkind to all of us."
"Was it?" Elizabeth asked.
Caroline smiled. "To those with feeling, certainly."
"Then I am sorry you suffered in so select a group."
Jane gave Elizabeth a look. Elizabeth returned one of innocence, though innocence had never been her strongest talent.
Caroline sat, arranged her skirts, and began the work for which she had come. She praised Jane's gown by regretting its fabric, admired the room by comparing it unfavorably to Netherfield, and spoke of Bingley's return as if it were a seasonal accident rather than a man's decision.
Bingley crossed to Jane before Caroline had exhausted herself. His face lit at the sight of her. Caroline's hardened at the sight of his happiness.
Tea became a battlefield with excellent china.
"How lively Longbourn always is," Caroline said after Lydia entered laughing, declared she had lost a glove, found it in her own hand, and left again. "One never fears dullness here."
"No," Elizabeth said. "We keep dullness at a distance whenever possible."
"Some families are gifted that way." Caroline turned to Darcy. "Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy? You once had a most amusing description of local liveliness."
The room tightened.
There are social moments in which no one appears to move and yet everyone chooses a side. Jane looked down. Bingley frowned, puzzled but attentive. Mrs. Bennet smiled because she heard compliment first and insult not at all. Mr. Bennet, who had wandered in with a book, stopped pretending to read.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy.
Here it was: the old account reopened. Caroline had brought the old charge forward and expected him to honor it.
Darcy set down his cup.
"I have said many foolish things," he replied. "You must be more particular."
Caroline blinked. "Foolish? You are severe on yourself."
"Not as severe as I have been on others."
Bingley's gaze moved from Darcy to Caroline.
Caroline laughed lightly. "Surely you do not mean to retract every witty observation. Some families invite notice."
"Notice, yes. Contempt, no."
The silence after that was so complete that Mary, in the next room, could be heard practicing the same four measures with relentless determination.
Caroline's color rose. "I only meant that society requires discernment."
"It does," Darcy said. "I have lately discovered that discernment without humility is merely prejudice with better tailoring."
Mr. Bennet made a sound that might have been a cough or joy taking cover.
Elizabeth looked at her hands. She did not trust her face.
Caroline, however, was not defeated. She had the courage of a woman who had invested too heavily in disdain to sell at a loss.
"How philosophical you have become. Miss Eliza, you must be pleased with your influence."
The second blade showed itself: if Darcy behaved better, Elizabeth must have manipulated him. A woman could be insulted by a man's contempt or blamed for his improvement. The market was versatile.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes. "I claim no credit. Mr. Darcy's errors are his own, and so, I hope, are his corrections."
Darcy looked at her then, and the look held such open gratitude that she had to become very interested in the sugar bowl.
Jane spoke, gentle but clear. "It is always a comfort when friends correct misunderstandings."
Bingley straightened. "Yes. It is."
Caroline saw danger. "Misunderstandings?"
Bingley, dear man, looked pained but not evasive. "I misunderstood a great deal last winter."
"Charles -"
"And I allowed others to understand for me."
That was Bingley's public sentence. It was not polished. It did not need to be. Jane heard it. Elizabeth heard it. Darcy looked at his friend with the expression of a man accepting a deserved blow.
Mrs. Bennet, who had followed only half the exchange, chose the happiest half. "Well! I am sure no one can misunderstand Jane long. She is the sweetest girl in the world."
"She is," Bingley said.
Jane's blush could have lit the room.
Caroline withdrew soon after, pleading fatigue. Her farewell to Jane was cool, to Elizabeth cooler, and to Darcy glacial enough to preserve meat.
When she had removed herself to the small sitting room with Mrs. Hurst, everyone seemed to breathe again.
Mr. Bennet closed his book. "I have rarely enjoyed tea more."
"Mr. Bennet," his wife cried, "how can you say so? Poor Miss Bingley looked very unwell."
"Yes. Truth often disagrees with people at first."
Bingley asked Jane to walk in the garden. Mrs. Bennet nearly shouted consent before Jane could answer. Darcy remained in the room with Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet, which was either brave or foolish. The categories, she had found, sometimes overlapped.
Mr. Bennet looked from one to the other. "Mr. Darcy, I believe my wife requires my opinion on poultry."
"Does she?" Elizabeth asked.
"No, but a good marriage thrives on invented obligations." He left with the air of a man placing a lit candle near fireworks and trusting providence.
Elizabeth and Darcy remained near the window, alone but for the open door and the entire moral weight of Longbourn.
"You did not have to do that," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "I did."
"Miss Bingley will not forgive you."
"That is her right."
"She will blame me."
"That is her habit."
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. "You are learning."
"Slowly."
"Painfully, I hope."
"Very."
The answer was so grave that she laughed. Then, because laughter had become dangerous too, she turned toward the window. In the garden Jane walked beside Bingley, her head bent, his whole body inclined toward her as if she were the only direction worth facing.
"If he hurts her again," Elizabeth said quietly, "I shall be unreasonable."
"I would not advise him to test you."
"You advise him now?"
"Only to think for himself."
"A radical program."
Darcy stood beside her, leaving a careful distance. "Miss Elizabeth, I cannot ask you to forget what I said at Hunsford."
"Good."
"Nor what I did before it."
"Better."
"But I hope, in time, you might believe that I understand why it was wrong."
Elizabeth watched Jane smile in the garden. "Understanding is a beginning."
"And not an end."
"You are improving at answers."
"I have had a severe instructor."
"You chose the course."
He looked at her with warmth so restrained it nearly undid her. "I am glad I was not permitted to withdraw."
Elizabeth should have replied lightly. She could have. Several excellent replies presented themselves for employment.
Instead she said nothing.
Outside, Jane and Bingley turned at the end of the path and began walking back toward the house, side by side, not yet restored but no longer separated by other people's certainty.
Elizabeth thought of her list. Public insult. Continued contempt. Interference. Proposal as condescension. Explanation without apology. The list remained true.
But a new line had begun beneath it, written in no ink she could admit to owning, and she did not yet know what to call it.