Chapter Nine
Priscilla Allerdyce, though not fundamentally wicked by nature, had been fashioned by her mother as a weapon in the combat of courtship as surely as any naval architect had drafted plans for a man-o’-war.
She had been informed that Jonathan Darcy would be visiting Netherfield at the same time as she; no further instructions had been required.
Priscilla understood what her mother wished her to do and felt confident of making progress.
If she could not yet bring Mr. Darcy to the point of proposing, she could at least set the stage for an appropriate avowal of love in the relatively near future.
Given this, Priscilla’s sentiments upon seeing Miss Juliet Tilney were not so unpleasant as might be imagined.
For one, though she understood her duty to catch Mr. Darcy and make him her husband, her heart was not touched by him in the slightest. This sort of sentiment, she had been given to understand, most often awakened after matrimony, so its absence at this stage did not concern her.
Therefore, although Miss Tilney might represent a tactical menace, Priscilla could look upon this coolly, absent sorrow or despair.
Second, and more significantly, Priscilla was cognizant of the attendant risks following the murder of Mr. Hurst. In London, the deaths within the Rushworth family had not unduly unnerved her—grisly to think about, to be sure, but one expected evildoing in the city.
Nor had she any but the most glancing acquaintance with those who had died.
How different it was to encounter a murder among one’s own family!
(Her uncle Hurst had never been a favorite, given his predilection for drink, but he was nonetheless kin.) And how shocking to have such a thing take place at Netherfield, a house Priscilla had always thought of as particularly peaceable.
Worst of all, this threatened to bring disgrace upon her uncle and aunt, and such disgrace might in time even touch her.
If Miss Tilney could assist in the resolution of this murder, by all means, she should be allowed to do so.
Once that purpose had been fulfilled, then it would be time for Priscilla to push the competition aside and fix her attention on her future.
Her elder sister, Frederica, unencumbered by any need for strategical thinking in this matter, had gone to Miss Tilney almost immediately, greeting her with warmth and without the slightest allusion to February’s scandal.
So Priscilla followed her sister, wearing a similar smile. “Miss Tilney. I trust your journey here was not unpleasant?”
“The worst of the summer heat has passed, thank goodness,” Miss Tilney replied. “Yet traveling great distances by carriage is always somewhat wearying. You must be much in need of rest.”
“True, but for us, why, Netherfield might almost as well be home. It is not so tiring coming to a familiar place as it is to go to an unfamiliar one, because in a new place, one can never entirely be at ease, can one?” This was civil, and generally truthful, and yet would remind Juliet that she was an outsider here at Netherfield—that she would ever be so—while Priscilla herself belonged here, amid her family, her social class, and her future husband.
To judge by the way Miss Tilney’s gaze drifted downward toward the floor, the message had been received.
Pleased with herself, Priscilla went on to greet her aunt Jane—who, silly and sentimental though she might be, could not but be a favorite of anyone who had in childhood known her comforting ways.
Priscilla remained just young enough to hope that Aunt Jane, in defiance of the seasons, would have asked her cook to make a bit of the wonderful Netherfield gingerbread.
Juliet had in fact been trying to think of a suitable rejoinder to Priscilla Allerdyce, but as is so often the case, the perfect bon mot would not arrive until hours later, when she was trying to fall asleep. Her frustration was diverted when Jonathan Darcy came swiftly to her side.
“You choose your time wisely, Mr. Darcy.” Juliet nodded toward Priscilla, deep in conversation with Mrs. Bingley. Inwardly she was proud of herself; she had remained poised, had even been witty, as the slight smile on his face demonstrated.
Mr. Darcy said, “I wish to apologize for my departure yesterday. It seemed important to—”
“Forgive my interrupting you, Mr. Darcy, but I made some observations last night that I feel I must share, and this may be our best opportunity for some time.”
He heard her out, with interest but also with disbelief. “That is not a pair I should ever have thought likely—in any context, truly, but least of all in the one you suggest.”
“Yet they meet privately. Yet Mrs. Hurst slips out early in the morning. And she travels into Meryton at that same hour, presumably to meet with someone.” Juliet raised an eyebrow. “Who else might it be?”
“At this point I will concede only that we must investigate the point further,” Mr. Darcy said. “For if that connection is true—”
“Then we know of two people who would have reason to wish Mr. Hurst out of the way,” Juliet concluded, glancing around.
Luckily their position in the corner and the general hubbub in the room concealed the content of their conversation, any element of which alone would have silenced all present with shock.
Except, perhaps, Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Hurst.
The person nearest Mr. Darcy and Miss Tilney was Frederica Allerdyce, who overheard nothing, largely due to distraction.
She had originally intended to keep an eye on her younger sister.
As Frederica was the superior in age, temperament, and sense, she often found herself obliged to soften the edges of some of Priscilla’s sharper remarks.
Given her mother’s plans for Priscilla and Mr. Darcy, Miss Tilney would inevitably be a target.
However, Frederica had many others to greet upon her arrival at Netherfield, including one gentleman she had not expected to see so soon. “Mr. Lucas!” she said brightly. “How good of my uncle and aunt to invite you to this very first luncheon. It is always such a delight to see old friends.”
“I agree entirely,” said Isaac Lucas, for indeed he and Frederica had known each other almost since their infancy.
The various connections between their families meant that they had been brought together once or twice a year; and one of Frederica’s first memories was of toddling through the lavender that grew on one of Netherfield’s low hills, young Isaac at her side, the two of them pointing out butterflies darting amid the fragrant plants.
He had matured into one of the finest young men of her acquaintance, one she privately considered as the ideal of amiability.
“How very civil you are, too.” Frederica gestured vaguely at Mr. Lucas’s dark clothing. “You need not have donned mourning for the sake of our uncle, but let me express for all my family how much your gesture is appreciated.”
“I deserve no such appreciation, for I have been wearing mourning these past nine months. You would not have heard, then, that my father passed away.”
Frederica gasped at her ignorance, and her own inadvertent unkindness. “Indeed I had not! How very sorry I am to hear it. Mr. Lucas, please accept my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you, Miss Allerdyce. He was the kindest of fathers and the best of men.”
Other childhood memories had filled her mind. “Do you recall when he made us the kite? The scarlet one with the long tail?”
Mr. Lucas’s fond smile said more of his filial love than words could ever have done. “I think we ran up and down the length of the garden a hundred times that day. It was not windy enough for a kite after the first hour or so, but we wished it to fly, and he did not wish to disappoint us.”
“A very kind father, indeed.” Frederica glanced fondly at her own papa, who was deep in conversation with her dear uncle Bingley. Yet the greater implications of what Mr. Lucas had told her had begun to clarify within her mind. “So you have become head of your family and inherited your house?”
“Yes, Miss Allerdyce. I have. It is a great responsibility, and one I had thought would not fall to me for many more years to come. Yet with that responsibility come certain advantages.”
Mr. Lucas’s eyes met hers, and Frederica felt a flutter deep within, as tiny and bright as those long-ago butterflies in the lavender. She said only, “I am sure you fulfill your new role admirably, Mr. Lucas.”
He inclined his head by way of reply, and they set to speaking with others who had to be greeted, but neither Mr. Lucas nor Frederica thought of much else for the better part of an hour.
Always, she had liked him—enjoyed his company, admired his person, recalled with pleasure the few occasions upon which they had danced together.
Mr. Lucas had ever seemed to be as taken with her companionship as she was with his.
Once or twice, Frederica would admit, their conversation had taken a turn toward the flirtatious.