CHAPTER TEN
The letter went missing on a Thursday, which Elizabeth discovered only because Mr. Bennet's correspondence had grown, over the weeks of her stay, into a small and reliable rhythm, a letter every eight or nine days, full of dry observations about Mrs. Bennet's nerves and Kitty's complaints and the general business of Longbourn carrying on without her.
When the ninth day passed without a letter, and then the tenth, Elizabeth felt a small, specific unease she could not entirely account for.
It was Mrs. Reynolds, three days later, who solved the puzzle, arriving in the study with an expression of carefully controlled alarm.
"I do not like to make accusations, Miss Bennet, but a footman has told me something I think you ought to know.
A letter arrived for you on Thursday last, in your father's hand, he is certain of it, having carried the post tray himself.
It was set upon the hall table as usual.
By the time it ought to have reached your rooms, it was gone. "
"Gone."
"He believes Miss Bingley took it. He did not see her do so directly, you understand, but he saw her pass through the hall not ten minutes after the post arrived, and she was, he says, in unusually high spirits at dinner that evening, for a lady who had complained of headache all afternoon."
Elizabeth sat very still, feeling the particular cold clarity that came, she was beginning to understand, just before anger properly arrived. "What would she want with a letter from my father."
She did not have to wait long to find out.
The answer arrived that same evening, in the form of a folded note slipped beneath her bedroom door sometime before dinner, unsigned, though the hand was unmistakable, having seen enough of Miss Bingley's careful copperplate on invitation cards and place settings to know it at a glance.
I have read your father's letter with considerable interest, Miss Bennet.
He writes with such frankness of "the trustees' demand" and "the sum now owed" and "Mr. Darcy's generous, if unusual, proposal" that I confess I now understand the precise arithmetic of your situation rather better than I did before.
I think you will agree it would be most unfortunate if such particulars, in your father's own hand, were to find their way into wider circulation, perhaps even reproduced in part, for the satisfaction of curious minds in town.
I do not say this as a threat, Miss Bennet.
I say it only as a fact, and leave you to consider what use you might make of it.
Elizabeth read it twice, and felt her hands, very slightly, begin to shake, not from fear exactly but from a fury so precise and so cold that it steadied her almost immediately, the way ice forms hardest at the point of greatest pressure.
She did not go to Mr. Darcy. She considered it, briefly, standing with the note still in her hand, and then set the consideration aside with deliberate firmness.
This was not, she decided, a problem to be solved by appealing to the master of the house on her behalf, as though she were a child requiring rescue.
Caroline Bingley had made the mistake of imagining Elizabeth Bennet a woman who could be cornered without a fight, and Elizabeth intended to correct that impression herself.
She found Miss Bingley in the small music room before dinner, alone at the instrument though not playing, and closed the door behind her with a quiet, deliberate click.
"You have my father's letter."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"I think you have a very precise idea what I mean, Miss Bingley, and I think we would both prefer to dispense with the pretense, as we are alone and there is no audience here for either of us to perform for.
" Elizabeth kept her voice level, though it cost her some effort.
"You took a private letter, addressed to me, in order to use its contents as leverage.
I would like it returned, and I would like your assurance that its contents will travel no further than this room. "
"And if I decline."
"Then I shall write to my father myself, this evening, explaining precisely what has happened, and I shall ask him to write directly to Mr. Darcy regarding the theft of his correspondence from beneath this roof, which I imagine Mr. Darcy, whatever his patience with your continued presence here, will not find a small matter.
" Elizabeth let that sit a moment. "You have built your entire campaign, Miss Bingley, on the assumption that I would rather suffer quietly than risk further scandal.
I think you have mistaken caution for cowardice.
I am not ashamed of my father's debt, nor of my reasons for being here, and I find I am considerably less afraid of scandal than you appear to believe. "
"You ought to be afraid of it," Miss Bingley said, some of her careful pleasantness finally cracking, "given how very little you actually have to fall back on, should Mr. Darcy's interest in you prove, as it generally proves with gentlemen of his consequence, rather more passing than you have allowed yourself to hope. "
"That is a risk I am prepared to take, Miss Bingley, because whatever else is true of my situation, I have not lied about it, not once, not to anyone, and I find that gives a person a great deal more steadiness than you appear to credit." Elizabeth held out her hand. "The letter, if you please."
There was a long, charged silence, and then, with visible reluctance, Miss Bingley reached into her workbasket and produced the letter, somewhat creased, and set it in Elizabeth's outstretched hand without a word.
"This is not finished, Miss Bennet."
"Perhaps not. But it is finished for this evening, and I find that is sufficient for the present." Elizabeth turned and left the room before her own composure, which had cost her considerably more than she had let show, could fail her in front of an audience that did not deserve to witness it.
She did not tell Mr. Darcy that evening, nor the next, though she noticed, with some private satisfaction, that Miss Bingley's manner toward her had shifted into something warier, more careful, the particular respect that follows a defeat even when it cannot be openly acknowledged as one.