Chapter VI #2
“Lizzy,” said Aunt Gardiner, her tone chiding, “Jane is not a child, and she knows that something is not as Miss Bingley wishes. Do not suppose that Jane cannot endure this news—we know nothing of what it means, after all.”
“I suppose you are correct,” said Elizabeth, though not pleased at all with the situation.
To Elizabeth’s distinct lack of surprise, her sister refused to offer any interpretation of what they had seen.
“As you said yourself, Lizzy,” said she, “you know nothing of this woman other than what you have seen.”
“That is true, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “Yet it is suggestive, is it not? Mr. Bingley is not what he was at Netherfield, and perhaps now we are learning why that is so.”
“Perhaps we are,” said Jane. “Yet I believe we need more than this before we can draw any conclusions.”
“With that, we are in agreement,” said Elizabeth. “Do you mean to ask Mr. Bingley about it?”
Jane thought on it for a moment, then she shook her head. “No, I do not think it is the time yet. Should the occasion present itself, I may ask him, but I shall not do so unless there is an obvious opportunity.”
“Very well.”
Though Elizabeth knew that Jane’s stance was sensible, she could not help but suppose they were starting to receive some answers. Where those answers led was as yet uncertain, but seeing Mr. Bingley that day had clarified matters, if only a little.
Louisa Hurst was not blind. Though her sister often looked on her as the quiet sister, the follower, nothing she did escaped Louisa’s notice. It was a benefit—or curse, depending on how one looked at it—of being in Caroline’s confidence.
The fact was that Louisa agreed with Caroline in a broad sense.
Though she had professed close friendship for Jane in Hertfordshire, Louisa knew Caroline had not been entirely truthful, though she thought her sister did have some affection for the eldest Bennet.
Jane Bennet was a gentle, worthy sort of girl, but she could not do much for the Bingley family in society.
Louisa’s personal feelings for her were more complicated.
While she esteemed Miss Bennet in a general sense, her feelings of friendship were rudimentary at best. It would be much better if Charles found some heiress and married her—Miss Darcy would have been perfect had Mr. Darcy not stepped in and made it clear that his sister would not be part of their dynastic ambitions.
In the current situation, Louisa agreed in a broad sense that it was better for Charles to marry Miss Bennet than the alternative.
That was not at issue. What was at issue was Caroline’s predilection for dictating and expecting everyone else to fall in with her designs.
Louisa did not want Charles marrying someone unsuitable, but at the same time he was an adult and could choose for himself.
“You know your sister’s machinations are doomed to failure.”
It was not a question, and Louisa did not treat it as such. Though Caroline often dismissed Gerald Hurst as a drunkard or a buffoon, Louisa knew there was little that escaped her husband’s notice.
“Bingley is not forceful, but he is not in the habit of acting against his conscience,” rumbled Gerald.
“When it does not matter, he does not object, but when it means something to him, I cannot recall a single instance where he has allowed Caroline to have her way. He has always tended to return to what suits him best, regardless of what anyone else says.”
For several moments, Louisa considered this, then she sighed. “Then there is no hope?”
“Come now, Louisa, it is not that bad. He will do nothing to shame you.”
“Shame is not what I fear.”
“And that is the problem,” said Gerald. “You fear when you should be happy for your brother if he finds contentment. He has no ambitions where society is concerned—not like Caroline and, to a lesser extent, you.”
“That much appears to be incontrovertible,” muttered Louisa.
Gerald gave her a long look. “Unless I am mistaken, you have little more patience for your sister’s excesses in this matter than your brother.”
“You are not mistaken,” replied Louisa, though she did not wish to confess it. “Miss Bennet would be a poor choice for Charles, though better than the alternative. But trying to direct Charles against his obvious wishes does not sit right.”
“Then withdraw, allow Bingley to do what he wishes.”
Louisa sighed. “Perhaps you have not noticed, but I have not given Caroline my support.”
“She assumes it, nonetheless.”
“Aye, that she does,” agreed Louisa.
“I cannot think you need do anything. Let your brother decide for himself. If he yields to Caroline’s influence, he will reap what he sows, though I do not suppose he will be unhappy with a woman like Miss Bennet for a wife. If he does not . . .”
“Then he will go his own way,” said Louisa for him.
“Yes.”
“And he will be happy.”
Gerald grinned and shrugged. “Happiness is a state that comes naturally to your brother. There are few situations in which he cannot find contentment. Something he chooses for himself is not one of those situations.”
“Very well. I shall resist all Caroline’s attempts to recruit me.”
“Excellent. When this is all over, your sister might learn something.”
That seemed too much to ask, though Louisa agreed with her husband in a general sense. Caroline was nothing if not pig-headed. In that moment, Louisa determined to keep herself aloof, but not to allow her vigilance to lapse.
Elizabeth could confess to some curiosity.
During a morning visit the day after her walk in Hyde Park, they welcomed the Bingleys to Gracechurch Street, and Elizabeth watched as Miss Bingley inspected her brother and Jane with a peculiar intensity, trying to determine whether she needed to adjust her plans unless Elizabeth was no judge at all.
What she saw was less certain—on the surface, they appeared much as they ever were, but Elizabeth could see more hesitation in Jane’s manner after the previous day’s revelation.
At first, Elizabeth had thought to avoid mention of what she had seen, but the longer she observed Miss Bingley, the more her suspicions whispered, and she wondered what she would say. When the curiosity became unbearable, Elizabeth decided she had nothing to lose should she test Miss Bingley.
“Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley when Elizabeth approached.
It was necessary to suppress a smile. Though Miss Bingley made a valiant attempt to behave with the utmost civility, Elizabeth could see how forced it was, and at times she noticed a hint of impatience in Miss Bingley’s manner.
Most often, she directed it at Elizabeth, though Mrs. Gardiner was also the recipient when Miss Bingley was not paying attention to her behavior.
For a time, they spoke of inconsequential matters, Miss Bingley’s attention more than half diverted from Elizabeth.
Though Elizabeth wondered how best to bring up the subject about which she wished to speak, in the end she opted to just say it.
Miss Bingley might reveal something if Elizabeth surprised her.
“My aunt and I were walking in Hyde Park yesterday when we happened to see your brother.”
That caught Miss Bingley’s attention as Elizabeth had known it would. She frowned, clearly not having known about her brother’s excursion.
“Charles was at home during the fashionable hour,” said she, her gaze searching.
“It was not during the fashionable hour,” replied Elizabeth. She grinned to put the woman at ease. “You must recall my predilection for walking—do you suppose I concern myself for fashion?”
Miss Bingley considered this, then shook her head. “No, I cannot suppose that you do. When did you see Charles?”
“It was perhaps late morning,” replied Elizabeth. “Mrs. Gardiner and I had gone shopping, then we walked in Hyde Park for a short time before returning home. As we walked, we saw Mr. Bingley ahead of us on a crossing path. The distance was such that we did not have an opportunity to speak to him.”
“My brother was from home yesterday morning,” said Miss Bingley, “but I had no notion he was at Hyde Park.”
“He was walking with a young lady.”
Miss Bingley stiffened. “A lady?”
“They appeared well acquainted,” said Elizabeth, watching yet trying to appear nonchalant. “She is not anyone with whom I am acquainted. Perhaps you know her—she was of average height, dressed well but not ostentatious, had brown hair several shades lighter than mine.”
It was clear at once that Miss Bingley knew who Elizabeth described and was not happy because of it. Though her jaw tightened, she gained control over herself sufficient to offer a response.
“I suspect I know of whom you speak,” said she, though the words came out clipped.
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, feigning mild interest. “Perhaps you will introduce us sometime.”
“That is not likely,” replied Caroline, her tone even shorter. “She is of no consequence—beneath our notice, to own the truth. Charles feels some responsibility toward her family, but it is not a matter of concern.”
Thereafter, Caroline became uncommunicative, enough that Elizabeth could interest her no more in anything she said.
It was the first time Elizabeth had seen Miss Bingley’s composure collapse, even for an instant.
Her dismissal was too quick, too forceful, something closer to urgency than she had yet revealed.
Though it was impossible to say how, Elizabeth was now certain that the woman Miss Bingley dismissed was an integral part of the mystery she was unraveling.
She did not doubt that Miss Bingley would redouble her efforts.
For the first time, however, Elizabeth was sensing that whatever she tried, it would backfire.