Chapter 7
Rain and Hospitality
The consequences of the previous evening made themselves known with a degree of certainty that left little room for doubt or hope.
Mr. Jones, the apothecary from Meryton, was sent for without delay and arrived before the morning had properly settled into its usual rhythm.
His entrance carried with it an air of practiced urgency, though his manner remained composed.
He spoke little as he was conducted upstairs, and less still once he had begun his examination.
Darcy, who had joined the others in the breakfast room shortly after the summons had been given, heard only fragments—footsteps above, the opening and closing of doors, and the low murmur of voices that did not carry.
Bingley, unable to remain below, had gone upstairs, determined to speak with Mr. Jones immediately following his examination.
The rest waited.
Miss Bingley occupied herself with arranging and rearranging the items before her, her attention never truly fixed upon them.
Mrs. Hurst leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the window with intermittent interest. Darcy stood near the mantel, one hand resting lightly against its edge, his thoughts not wholly given to the situation above, though not untouched by it.
At length, the door opened. Mr. Jones entered, followed by Bingley. The expression upon Bingley’s face was sufficient to prepare them all.
“Well?” Miss Bingley asked, rising slightly.
Mr. Jones folded his hands behind his back. “Miss Bennet is a great deal too ill to be moved.”
The words fell with finality.
Miss Bingley drew a breath, her irritation undisguised and obvious. “Too ill? You are certain she cannot return home?”
“I would not advise it under any circumstance,” Mr. Jones replied. “The fever has taken hold. Movement would only worsen her condition. She must remain here, be kept warm, and allowed to rest. I shall send a draught that may assist, though time will be the principal remedy.”
Mrs. Hurst exchanged a glance with her sister, though neither spoke.
Bingley turned slightly, his posture stiffening with purpose. “Then she shall remain here as long as necessary. Miss Elizabeth will stay with her, of course.”
Mr. Jones gathered his gloves from the table. “That would be advisable.”
Darcy watched as the apothecary gathered his things and took his leave, the matter concluded as far as his profession was concerned. Bingley remained standing there, his thoughts plainly still above stairs, before at last he returned to the present.
“You see,” he said, addressing his sisters, “it is settled.”
Miss Bingley’s lips pressed together, though she said nothing. Bingley, satisfied that the necessary arrangements had been made, moved toward the door once more.
“I shall go up again,” he said. “Pray excuse me.”
He left them.
Silence lingered for only a moment.
Then Miss Bingley spoke.
“Really,” she said, her tone no longer moderated by restraint, “I cannot countenance it.”
Mrs. Hurst shifted slightly. “My dear Caroline—”
“No,” Miss Bingley continued, turning toward her brother’s empty chair as though he still occupied it. “It is beyond reason. To have such people in the house—indefinitely, it seems—is quite insupportable.”
Darcy's focus intensified; even so, he maintained an appearance of composure.
Mrs. Hurst regarded her sister with clear curiosity. “What do you mean by ‘such people’?”
Miss Bingley’s composure returned swiftly, though a sharper edge remained beneath it. “I mean exactly what I say. Our guests are not quite what they appear.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted toward her.
Mrs. Hurst leaned forward slightly. “Explain yourself.”
Miss Bingley smiled, and on this occasion, she made no effort to temper the expression.
“I learned something of our visitors last evening—something that places their situation in a rather different light.”
Darcy turned his attention to the opposite wall, though he listened closely.
“Miss Jane Bennet,” Miss Bingley continued, “has connections to trade.”
Mrs. Hurst lifted her brows, though with little surprise. “Many families do. Our own included.”
“Indeed,” Miss Bingley said, carefully ignoring this reminder of the origins of their fortune. “But there is more.” She allowed the pause to settle. “Her sister—Miss Elizabeth—is, in fact, her stepsister.”
Mrs. Hurst's curiosity was piqued. “Is she?”
“The present Mrs. Bennet,” Miss Bingley went on, “is Mr. Bennet’s second wife. Her daughter, Miss Elizabeth, was born during her first marriage.”
Darcy kept his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall.
“I did not happen to learn the young lady’s original surname,” Miss Bingley added, “but the distinction is perfectly clear.”
Mrs. Hurst considered this. “How curious.”
Bingley’s voice interrupted them. “What is curious?”
He had returned unnoticed, his expression attentive though still marked by concern.
Miss Bingley turned toward him with practiced composure. “We were discussing your guests.”
Bingley resumed his seat. “And what conclusions have you reached?”
“That they are somewhat different from what one might suppose,” she replied.
Bingley frowned slightly. “In what respect?”
Miss Bingley repeated her account, this time in a smoother and more measured tone, though her meaning remained unchanged.
Bingley listened without interruption.
When she had finished, he considered her before replying.
“It is hardly unusual,” he said at last. “A child from a first marriage may take her stepfather’s name. It prevents confusion and makes life easier for everyone concerned.”
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened. “Convenience and propriety are not always identical.”
“I perceive no impropriety in it,” Bingley returned. “Nor do I believe it alters Miss Elizabeth’s character in the least.”
Darcy felt a subtle shift within himself at those words.
Bingley continued. “As for connections to trade, I am scarcely in a position to object.”
Miss Bingley offered no reply.
For Bingley, the subject was closed.
For Darcy, it had never possessed much significance.
The information, though noted, carried very little weight.
There had once been a period when such distinctions might have mattered—when considerations of birth and circumstance would have guided his judgment and shaped his opinions with quiet authority.
That period had passed.
Or perhaps, he reflected, it had never possessed the authority he had once assigned to it.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s standing, whether formed by birth or circumstance, did nothing to alter what he had observed. Her manners, her understanding, and her ease in society remained absolutely her own, untouched by the particulars of her origin.
More pressing, however, was another consideration altogether.
He had wronged her. And that remained unaddressed.
Darcy rose. “I believe I shall take some air.”
“The ground will be damp,” Bingley warned
“I shall remain near the house.”
Bingley inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze followed him as he left, though she did not speak.
The gardens offered a welcome contrast to the interior of the house. The rain had passed, leaving behind a freshness that settled upon the air without discomfort. The paths, though darkened, remained passable, and the surrounding beds retained more life than the season might have suggested.
Darcy moved along one of the nearer walks, his pace even, his thoughts more ordered than they had been within.
Miss Elizabeth was above stairs. Miss Bennet’s illness ensured her presence.
Time had been given. Opportunity, once uncertain, now stood plainly before him. He would not neglect it again.
A cluster of late roses drew his attention. They stood in full bloom despite the season’s advance, their color deepened by the recent rain. He paused before them, considering their form, their persistence.
For a moment, his thoughts shifted. A simple gesture—an offering, perhaps—accompanying the apology he had yet to deliver. The idea presented itself clearly, but even as it formed, he dismissed it. Words must come first.
A movement to his left interrupted the moment.
Darcy turned.
Thomas and Toby stood a short distance away, their boots marked with mud, their expressions alert and unguarded.
He regarded them with mild curiosity.
“Does your mother know you have come so far from home?”
Thomas shrugged. “She is otherwise occupied.”
Toby stepped forward. “Longbourn is in a frenzy.”
Darcy thought he understood. “Because of Miss Bennet?”
“Yes,” Toby said. “They are very concerned for my sister.”
“We came to see,” Thomas added.
Darcy bowed his head slightly. “And what have you discovered?”
“Only what we already know: that she is here,” Toby replied.
“And that Lizzy is with her,” Thomas said.
There was a brief pause.
Toby shifted, his expression changing slightly. “We never intended for her to be caught in the rain.”
Darcy fixed his gaze upon him. “What do you mean?”
The boys exchanged a look.
Thomas frowned.
Toby glanced down briefly before drawing himself up.
“We only meant to delay them,” Thomas said.
Darcy’s expression changed and he frowned. “Were you responsible for the broken axle?”
The silence that followed supplied all the explanation he required.
Thomas grew sheepish as he described how he and Toby had slipped away when they were supposed to be resting. He detailed how he used tools in the stable to work at the axle until it appeared likely to fail on the journey to Netherfield.
“What if it had not worked?” Darcy folded his arms and regarded the children sternly.
Thomas shuffled his feet. “We did not consider that.”
Toby, showing no sign at all of remorse, placed his hands upon his hips. “You must not waste the opportunity.”
Darcy studied him steadily. “That does not answer the question.”
Thomas stepped forward. “We thought it would be quite simple.”
“Only enough to keep them here,” Toby added.
Darcy chose his words with care.
“Had the rain held off, Bingley’s carriage could easily have conveyed them home.”
The boys turned to one another.
“We had not considered that,” Thomas admitted.