Chapter Fourteen #2
Those gentlemen and ladies who keep only to the genteel areas of their house—who never enter the servants’ domain—know less than half of what truly happens beneath their own roofs.
Much of what occurs in the scullery or the attics is best left unrealized.
Yet this can also lead to a level of ignorance about one’s own abode, as Jonathan had realized when asking the Bingleys how long it would take to move from the laundry to a bedchamber.
“Let me consider,” Aunt Jane had said. “Of course it would depend upon which bedchamber. The Loftons and the Hursts stay at the far end of the hall, so they would require another minute or so compared to, say, Miss Tilney, who is so very near the stairs.”
“That is not so great a difference in time as to concern us,” Jonathan replied.
Yet Aunt Jane had few other insights; as kind a mistress as she was, she spent little time belowstairs.
Jonathan had made the trip with Juliet by his side, but not while attempting either haste or discretion.
Therefore they spent a portion of the afternoon hurrying from various bedrooms down into the laundry, or from the house to the place where clothes were dyed.
Dark clouds hung low overhead, presaging the autumn rains that were soon to begin.
So odd was it to see a gentleman and lady repeatedly dashing up and down stairs, or along such a length, that a handful of the servants found a moment to stop and watch them, even out of doors despite the encroaching damp.
“I think the murderer must have been obliged to steal the sash from the laundry, rather than the dye tubs,” Juliet finally said.
They stood upon the back lawn, breathing hard; Jonathan liked the rosiness of her cheeks.
“It is not that the trip could not be swiftly made, but surely the person would have been seen.”
“The stables were far closer,” Jonathan pointed out, “though both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Lofton were able to give accounts of their reasons for being there, and were witnessed doing precisely what they had reported.”
“A momentary step away might have been possible, nevertheless.” Juliet peered upward. “I believe the first raindrops have begun to fall.”
Once inside, the inevitable obligations of being a guest in a country house superseded the investigation for a time.
Stewart the butler handed Juliet a letter, one she did not take up immediately, but instead asked to have brought to her room.
When Jonathan looked at her curiously, she said, “It is from my grandfather, which means it will be unpleasant. I am in no haste to hear what he will have to say.”
“Is he always unpleasant?” Jonathan asked. He knew he would have to gain General Tilney’s approval one day.
Juliet considered this. “Nearly always, yes. In this case, I am certain he is replying to my letter, informing him that I”—she glanced about, but though Priscilla Allerdyce watched them closely, the others in the drawing room were paying them little heed—“that I declined a certain invitation I recently received.”
Jonathan understood and felt no further concern.
Whatever displeasure the general might express regarding Juliet’s refusal would dissipate as soon as he learned of her engagement to a far more eligible suitor—which Jonathan, in all modesty, knew himself to be.
The heir to Pemberley would be a match for any young lady, potentially even among the nobility.
But if I do not convince my father, Jonathan thought, if he becomes too angry that I dared enter into an engagement without his approval, I may be the heir to Pemberley no longer.
Another game of cards was to begin, and as the tables were made up, Jonathan first thought to give his usual excuses. He then realized that Mr. Brooks’s table still lacked a player. How better to assess the character of someone so taciturn than by observing them in such a context?
As soon as Jonathan had taken his chair, Mr. Brooks said, “Mr. Darcy, I believe I recall your extraordinary talent at cards.”
“The rest of us shall have our share of luck, never you fear,” said Mrs. Hurst.
“Cards are not a matter of luck—or, I should say, not only of luck,” Jonathan replied. “Probabilities are all that matter.”
“Precisely so,” said Mr. Brooks. “I find that the moment one begins to feel ‘lucky’—to gain enthusiasm, to lose one’s head—that is the moment to lay down one’s cards.”
“To quit just as one has luck?” Mrs. Hurst exclaimed. “Do not think I shall surrender my good fortune so easily!”
“I am sure you will not, Mrs. Hurst,” Mr. Brooks replied civilly.
The fourth at table, Mr. Allerdyce, said, “You have a cool head, Mr. Brooks. That is a benefit in many circumstances, not only cards.”
“I find it so,” said Mr. Brooks.
“What are some of those circumstances?” Jonathan asked.
His hand was poor, enough so that he knew to risk little.
One achieved greater success by looking toward victory of an evening entire, not that of a single round.
“In which you feel calm, reasoned consideration to be of the greatest benefit? I should imagine this especially important for a clergyman.”
In truth he wondered whether Mr. Brooks could truly be as unimpassioned as he appeared and proclaimed. Jonathan had always assumed miserliness to rise from a place of fear that the future could not be as prosperous as the past.
Mr. Brooks drew a card. “Investments, Mr. Darcy. In investing, it is critical to keep one’s head.
One reads in the paper of speculators building fortunes within a week and losing them within a day.
This is worse than folly.” His face never shifted expression as he spoke.
“One must look toward the more distant future. This Stockton and Darlington company I have bought into—they will make little profit at first, but I believe great potential lies there.”
Mr. Allerdyce assented, saying, “Your policy is exactly right, sir.”
Was Mr. Brooks simply saving money to invest? But why so much of it? And if he was making a great deal of money in investments, should not at least some of that fortune have gone to Aunt Kitty for the maintenance of the household? What was the point of hoarding such wealth?
“Oh, no,” cried Mrs. Hurst as Mr. Brooks lay down his successful hand.
Juliet spent much of the evening pretending to read one of the fashion periodicals, though she could not avoid conversation on this point altogether.
“That magazine is half a year out of date, is it not?” Priscilla Allerdyce said.
“I suppose,” Juliet replied, “but fashions do not change as quickly as all that.”
Mrs. Allerdyce interjected, “To those who truly attend to matters of fashion, I assure you, a great deal of difference can be seen season to season. Though for those who will not be in London, I suppose it could not be of any consequence.”
Juliet turned to her hostess. “You take quite a few of these publications, do you not, Mrs. Bingley?”
“My dear husband subscribes to them for me, for he knows I enjoy seeing how pretty the designs all are,” said Mrs. Bingley. “But I do not need to own a great deal of finery. It is simply that I like to look at beautiful things.”
The two Allerdyces nearby exchanged stares of disbelief, while Juliet desperately wished they would all leave her be.
In truth, while she felt she had chosen wisely in electing to read her grandfather’s letter only at the end of the evening, increasingly her curiosity and dread had begun to overcome her.
Suspense was no one’s friend. At the earliest possible hour, Juliet excused herself to retire.
As she left the room, she glanced back at Jonathan and saw that he was watching her leave. Juliet could not help but smile, though this expression faded as she realized the silent, wary Mr. Darcy had witnessed this exchange and disapproved of it.
Still, such disapproval as that, she thought while ascending the stairs, is unlikely to compare to whatever my grandfather will have to say.
Yet all Juliet’s dread had been inadequate to the truth, for she opened General Tilney’s letter to find herself disowned.