Have Never Desired Your Good Opinion

By Katarina

The Beginning, Next Section

Part I ~ Damn Tedious Waste of An Evening!

Posted on Sunday, 2 June 2002

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes as he exited the Bingleys' carriage, and adjusted his bicorne.

Why was he doing this to himself? He would much rather stay at Netherfield, sitting in front of the drawing room fire with a volume worthy of his attention in his lap. But no, his place as Bingley's guest was here, to enjoy himself amongst a group of social inferiors who were completely unknown to him, and would, please Lord, remain so hereafter.

Nor was he disposed to appear in any company this evening. Miss Bingley's attentions to him continued unabated, regardless of the utter lack of favourable response - for Mr. Darcy did, occasionally, when at leisure to do so unobserved, indulge in the same kind of reaction that he had bestowed on the unruly bicorne. Sadly, it was less than likely that he would be able to escape scrutiny on this occasion. Mr. Darcy thus looked forward to further tests of his fortitude as he skeptically viewed the exterior of the assembly rooms.

Charles Bingley wished as fervently for the evening to commence, as his friend desired it to end. He was good-humoured, conversed easily, and was at that moment possessed by considerable impatience to meet his new neighbours, or rather, their daughters - since the neighbours themselves have been filing through the Netherfield drawing room for the past three weeks.

His eagerness only seemed to increase as they were advancing towards the door behind which, Mr. Hurst diagnosed with his usual candour, there was 'some accursed racket going on'.

At last, they entered the assembly rooms. Bingley led the group, while Darcy remained in the background. His look was firmly fixed on a point on the wall opposite the entrance - in which he was slightly hindered by the feather of Mrs. Hurst's turban, which persisted in moving even though Mrs. Hurst stopped in her tracks. But this was nothing. If Mrs. Hurst's headdress was to be the sole factor to interfere with his peace of mind that evening, the latter may still prove a success. Mr. Darcy's object on this occasion was precisely the same as at any other social event: to keep his distance and preserve his sanity while awaiting the unavoidable.

The room fell silent upon their entrance. It was precisely the effect the entire Netherfield party relied upon, whilst one of its members at least longed for it to exceed the requisite few seconds. Darcy felt the inquisitive eyes upon him, and his discomfort was rapidly rising despite the remarkable amount of experience in similarly disconcerting situations.

Within moments of their advent a smiling middle-aged gentleman, a Sir William Lucas walked towards them in a hurried manner, welcoming them all with what he deemed a suitable quantity of pomp, and little or no wish to conceal that he viewed them as his prize exhibit.

Next on the agenda, Mr. Darcy dragged around the room - not on a leash, since one regrettably lacking - introduced to people for whom he can have nothing but the most fervent desire to become his intimate acquaintances. Special place amongst the latter to be reserved for ladies who are sharp enough to connect the name Darcy with the proper locality and, happily, possess marriageable daughters.

There is no end to my good fortune, it would seem.

In an attempt to escape the humiliation of being paraded about, Darcy hastily removed himself to another corner of the room, followed by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Sir William thus remained with only one candidate for the obligatory tour, but this one surpassed all his expectations. He did not even need to exercise the gentlest of pulls on the gentleman's sleeve, Bingley accompanied him most willingly.

Darcy sighed as he observed his friend and Sir William approach a female pillar of the community. Standing next to her were two younger ladies, very probably pillars in the making.

Strangely enough, Darcy permitted his gaze to linger. The taller of the two young ladies was indeed exceptionally beautiful. That, perhaps, was what caught his interest, and not the fact she was smiling charmingly at Bingley. Darcy, nevertheless, felt an irresistible urge to be smiled at. He strode across the room and arrived just in time to catch the young ladies' names, after Bingley had politely assured Mrs. Bennet that he was honoured to meet her at last.

This struck Darcy as slightly surprising.

Bennet? Must be the wife of one of the relentless callers.

The lady bubbled over with ill-concealed rapture and seized the moment. Her fan swooshed over to her left.

"This is my eldest, Jane."

Exquisite!

"My second eldest, Elizabeth."

Second, indeed!

"There is Mary, sitting next to Mrs. Long."

Oh dear.

"And the youngest, Kitty and Lydia, you see, they are dancing."

Mr. Darcy, more with the intent to escape further communication than to satisfy any real inclination to do so on his part, followed another wave of Mrs. Bennet's fan with the corner of his eye and a slight turning of his upper body.

Screaming and galloping about with the officers, you mean, surely.

Miss Bennet's smiles persisted radiant. As, however, they were directed at Bingley, who promptly engaged her for the next two dances... Following him had obviously been a mistake. Mr. Darcy was convinced of this as he found himself addressed by Mrs. Bennet.

That, I presume, is her name.

Having spoken to him without being properly introduced, Mrs. Bennet courageously sallied forth into another unforgivable act. She seemed to be offering, yes, offering, her second daughter as his partner - but not before she urged Miss Bennet to thank Mr. Bingley for asking her to dance.

She cannot be serious.

A moment's scrutiny of the evidence at hand suggested otherwise. What else was there for Mr. Darcy of Pemberley to do under these circumstances but to bow without a word, and leave for the corner where Miss Bingley and her sister were firmly holding their superior position? That in this action Mr. Darcy was also led by the charming old saying, 'Better the devil you know', is not entirely inconceivable.

From the aforementioned corner, as he very soon found out, he very likely had the best position in the entire room to observe the glowing Bingley escort the eldest Miss Bennet to the set. The glow, Mr. Darcy grudgingly admitted, was not strictly confined to his friend.

In the meantime, Miss Bingley was leaning towards him, complaining of heat, noise and the vulgarity of the assembly. Her suffering was such that, as she was busy communicating her frustration, the feather of her headdress drooped under its burden and brushed against Mr. Darcy's temple. Every possibility, however remote, of inducing Mr. Darcy to commiserate, was thereby irrevocably lost.

He excused himself and moved towards the table with the refreshments.

Virtually the only existing possibility to avoid being plagued is to follow Hurst's example.

As soon as his glass was full, he had little choice but face the assembly again. And surely enough, the first sight on offer was his friend sharing a merry laugh with Miss Bennet within yards of him.

Shameless deceit of centuries past is finally brought to light. Angels are not round-faced wing-sporting boys as is shown on world's celebrated paintings and frescoes, but charming females possessed of an elegant figure. At eight and twenty, wool is pulled off my eyes at last! And to think I would have to totter in the darkness forever had I not come to the illustrious ... Er, Meryton.

As he caught Bingley's eye, the latter beamed at him in the manner that let Darcy know he was fully aware of the treasure he had stumbled upon. Mr. Darcy stood by calmly and waited for Bingley to come share his monumental discovery with him. But when his friend reached his side, the opening was quite different from what had been anticipated.

"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner. You had much better dance!"

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. Your sisters are engaged at present and there is not another woman in the room, whom it would not be a punishment to stand up with."

Except Miss Bennet, and you are monopolising her.

"I would not be as fastidious as you are for a kingdom! I have never met so many pleasant girls in my life, and several of them are -"

Here it comes. A ... An ... Ang...

Here he glanced as Miss Bennet, who smiled gently and averted her eyes immediately afterwards.

"-Uncommonly pretty!"

Ah! Not there yet. Not after two dances! Astonishing. Well, the task of behaving sensibly, according to the custom, falls to my lot. Still...

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," Darcy said under his breath.

His friend's concession was encouragement enough for Mr. Bingley to open his heart.

"Oh, Darcy! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!"

Come now, you do not do the lady justice. There is, after all, a much better word to describe her. Shall I say it for you? For I have seen the light. She is an...

But Mr. Bingley was not as preoccupied with the blessings Fortune had showered upon him as to neglect his friend's well being.

"Look, there is one of her sisters sitting right there. She is very pretty, too, and, I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?"

Have I missed -? Ah. The second sister.

Darcy caught her eye, withdrew his own, and said,

"She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me."

If you find her pretty, then you dance with her and welcome! An odd repetition of my dancing lessons. Blasted Fitzwilliam! Always wheedled his way into the prettiest girl in the room accepting him. Miss Bartlett was a head taller than he was, but did it bother him? No! And the incident with the broomstick...

These reminiscences did not contribute much to Mr. Darcy's mood. He shrugged impatiently,

"I am in no humour, Bingley, to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men! You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me!"

Introduce me to his partner's sister, indeed!

Something, however, unexpectedly shook Mr. Darcy in his indignation. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had vacated her seat and passed him on her way towards the door. In passing, she looked at him.

As a result of this look, Darcy felt as if Forsythe had been too thorough in the task of fastening his neckcloth.

What does she mean by looking at me like that? Oh no, no! She could not have heard me! Could she?

Darcy's alarm increased as he saw Miss Elizabeth approach another young lady. Shortly after, it became rather obvious that their gazes were directed at him. Miss Elizabeth was apparently sharing something with her friend and, yes...

She is laughing! Laughing! At me! Good Lord!

Darcy groaned inwardly, feeling himself blushing. He turned into the direction away from the door and walked away briskly. Yet...

He could still hear the clear laughter of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Part II ~ Know Thy Enemy

Posted on Sunday, 2 June 2002

Safely back at Netherfield, there was, of course, an absolute necessity to discuss the assembly, or, as Miss Bingley put it, displaying her customary charm and benevolence, 'country's finest collection of savages'.

Darcy felt such a characterisation quite close to the actual truth, however, he did not consider vocalising his agreement with Miss Bingley's formulation. She might, after all, get the notion that he actually wished to take part in the conversation, and that, Mr. Darcy decided, would perhaps prove to have a disastrous effect on the equilibrium of his existence under Bingley's roof.

Miss Bingley and her sister proceeded gleefully to a minute dissection of the local ladies and their appearance. The name of Bennet was amongst the first to emerge.

As if I needed reminding!...

Darcy turned towards the fireplace to hide an expression of growing anger on his countenance. That somebody would actually laugh at him, and go about it quite openly! But -

My blasted tongue! Quite beneath me. It was Bingley and his infernal meddling that had done it.

But he was not to reprove himself without an interruption: Miss Bingley would have his opinion.

"And so none of the Hertfordshire ladies could please you, Mr. Darcy? Not even the famous Miss Bennets?"

The ladies shared a smile in anticipation of having their judgment corroborated by the highest authority. The latter in turn desired the subject dropped as soon as may be. To that effect, he pronounced laconically,

"I saw little beauty and no breeding at all."

Bingley let out a cry of offended dissent. Darcy went on to admit that Miss Bennet indeed was a bright exception in every respect. Bingley was not gratified by such lukewarm commendation and took the matter into his own hands. She was an angel, and that was that.

I am enthralled you at last find the proper word. As it is, I shall hardly praise your favourite to the skies, man! As for her sister...

"I heard Eliza Bennet described as a famous local beauty. What say you to that, Mr. Darcy?"

Oh, leave me be!

"I should have as soon called her mother a wit!"

There, will that satisfy you? God, I wish I had never set foot in Hertfordshire!

Bingley jumped out of his chair amidst his sisters' affected protestations as to Mr. Darcy's cruelty.

"Darcy, I shall never understand how can you go through the world determined to be displeased by everything and everyone in it!"

Oh no, Bingley as the knight in shining armour! If you knew a little more about the world, if you had any idea, as I do, of how scheming, conniving and dishonest people closest to you, never mind strangers, can be, you would understand me perfectly. But no, you have me to shelter you from any imprudence or harm, therefore...

But Darcy, of course, did not voice his thoughts. Instead, he retorted matter-of-factly as he leaned over the mantelpiece,

"And I will never understand why you are in such a rage to improve of everything and everyone in it."

In face of this repeated demonstration as to the contrast in disposition of two old friends, the evening thus drew to an end. Before it did, however, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley recapitulated their findings and proclaimed the eldest Miss Bennet a dear, sweet girl, while the rest of her family - and indeed, company - were found to be at best unworthy of notice.

Shifting in his bed a couple of hours later, unable to sleep, Fitzwilliam Darcy found Miss Elizabeth Bennet's laughter persistently resounding in his ears.

I had no business speaking of her as I did. It was against every decorum and I dare say she thinks me a brute ... But what is her good opinion to me?! One woman less who would try to please me then. Good! Lord knows I have had plenty of trouble from that quarter. Yes, well done.

Yet sleep would not come for a good three-quarter of an hour, and likewise, the image of Elizabeth Bennet curling her lip as she looked at him sideways, would not go away.

Miss Bingley was on great form. Vastly pleased by the fact that she and Mr. Darcy were of the same mind regarding the Hertfordshire society even without her opinion being obliged to undergo minor adjustments, she chatted incessantly. They were beginning to see things the same way! Excellent progress. Well worthy of staying in midst of nowhere.

Surprisingly enough, the morning found Darcy in a rather good humour as well, though, it may be surmised, his state of mind was not based on the sudden congruity of his and Caroline Bingley's opinions. He had put the previous evening's folly and nonsense behind him and turned over a new leaf. Miss Elizabeth Bennet would never dare trouble him with her attentions, and Miss Bingley he could deal with. Bingley was evidently impressed by Miss Bennet, even though she did smile too much, but even he knew better, surely, as to degrade himself by such a connection. The day before him was not to include a succession of mortifying exposures to various sources of unpleasantness. No.

"Good morning, everyone! I trust you had a good night's sleep after the pleasant evening we had yesterday!"

A few quick steps, and Bingley was seated at the head of the table. Shuffling through the post, which he would bring with him and then leave scattered on and under the breakfast table, he exclaimed,

"Ah! Here's a note from Sir Lucas!... Well, how kind of him - he invites us ... for this evening. It is to be a small family gathering, just a few friends and neighbours. How thoughtful!" beamed Bingley.

"Who said there was nothing to do in the country?"

Myself and every other person in the room except you?

Miss Bingley immediately detected a cloud looming over the previously spotless horizon.

"My dear Charles, I cannot comprehend how can the society of these people possibly give you any pleasure. Mr. Darcy, Louisa and myself were agreeing that we find it unendurable."

Before Mr. Bingley had time to reply, Darcy spoke calmly,

"However, Miss Bingley, you should not wish to slight your brother's new neighbours, I believe."

After the arbiter had spoken, Miss Bingley would naturally not dream of it. To Lucas Lodge they were to go.

Darcy was hardly in the room for two minutes when he began to regret that he had not excused himself. Sir William's 'small family gathering' proved to be a repetition of the night before, only on a smaller scale, and thus also providing considerably less space in which to avoid interaction.

Well, you've brought this upon yourself. Ah, there is Miss Bennet. Splendid, Bingley. Moves with a speed of an arrow, he does. Is that Miss Elizabeth? Best to get myself to the window. Do not... Oh no, here I go blushing like a milkmaid! Blast!

He clenched his fists and strode about the room to hide his growing uneasiness.

I had better keep her in view. Wouldn't wish her to come upon me unexpectedly and catch me off my guard. - Good Lord, the mother! Yes, Bingley does have five thousand a year, and what of it? A woman like her with two such beautiful daughters? - Steady, Darcy! Two? Miss Bennet is indeed...but Miss Elizabeth ... Where is she? A-ha!

Without fully realising where his feet were taking him, he moved within hearing distance of the little circle of which she made a part. His action made her aware of his presence, and suddenly, she looked at him whilst absent-mindedly stroking her arm. Her face bore a puzzled expression. Darcy felt he could not move, nor could he turn away his eyes. Inadvertently, he made a move toward his neck. He experienced another sudden impulse to loosen his neckcloth. The moment after that, something or somebody else captured Elizabeth's attention, and she looked away.

A second longer, and I would be making a spectacle of myself. Learn your lesson, Darcy, go away, and do not look at her again.

This was easier said than done, for Elizabeth had spoken, and Darcy felt he might just as well stay for a moment longer and hear what she had to say.

Know thy enemy - no harm in that.

"Are you in Meryton to subdue the discontented populace or do you defend Hertfordshire against the French?"

With difficulty, Darcy suppressed a smile.

So, be it ever so slightly, Miss Bennet ridicules Colonel Forster as well ... without a shred of malice ... Most interesting to observe ... How her eyes shine and sparkle as she delivers the blow. Devastating precision!

"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy!"

Uh? Who? Oh no. Leave me be!

But Sir William charged ahead.

"Nothing like dancing, you know, one of the refinements of every polished society."

What? Dancing? Where from did this subject spring? Ah! The younger Bennets and the officers are bent on destroying his drawing room floor, and he is ecstatic over it. Go, go, man, I must hear what she is saying!

"And unpolished society."

Sir William was at a loss.

"Sir?"

"Every savage can dance," constituted Darcy with the composure he did not feel, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

"Yes, quite," Sir William obligingly agreed.

Oh, no! She's coming this way. Could it be...? No, she's gone. What...? Let her go, you silly man!

Still, Sir William was a man with a mission.

"Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner."

Part III ~ The Objectionable Partner

Posted on Sunday, 9 June 2002

"You cannot refuse to dance, I'm sure, when such beauty is before you."

Sir William blinked good-humouredly without the slightest notion of what mortification he was inflicting upon the parties concerned.

Darcy almost gasped. To be offered Miss Elizabeth Bennet as his dancing partner for the third time already, and for the third time without a shadow of inclination on the lady's side! The embarrassment he felt was enhanced by his own acute feeling of having wronged Elizabeth the previous evening, and, to no small degree, by her quiet, proud expression, as she quietly assured both gentlemen she had not moved their way in order to beg for a partner.

Beg? No, I cannot picture you beg for anything! - Come, Darcy, make amends. She is Bingley's neighbour after all.

In spite of the choking feeling in his throat, he at last ventured,

"I would be very happy if you did me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Bennet."

That came out perfectly well. Why shouldn't I dance with her, after all? It is harmless enough, and I am sure I will enjoy her company. Yes ... Her eyes are indeed most fine ... She is intelligent enough, surely, to realise that it does not mean ... Excuse me?

"Thank you, but excuse me, I am not inclined to dance."

Thank you, but ... Not inclined? To dance with me? Very well. I deserved that, I suppose. But the next time I propose a dance, by Lord, I shall lead you to the set!

Darcy watched her walk away with an amused expression on his face.

We shall see who has the last laugh.

"I believe I can guess your thoughts at this moment," cooed a voice in his ear.

"I should imagine not."

Or you would be miles away by now, chasing some other wretched man and his ten thousand pounds.

"You are thinking how insupportable it would be, to spend many evenings in such tedious company."

Present company most decidedly not excluded.

"No, indeed, my mind was more agreeably engaged. I've been meditating on a very great pleasure a pair of fine eyes in a face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Ha!

Miss Bingley could not let this type of a remark by the object of her desire just pass by. Could it be that her exertions had at last begun to bear fruit? Certainly, the step which she contemplated was most comfortably taken against the reassuring backdrop of music and talk.

"And may one dare ask whose eyes have inspired such reflections?"

Before he could stop himself, the sentence was out of his mouth, and he had owned it with an expression bordering on the smallest of smiles,

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet's."

Good God, did I really say that? I did, didn't I?

He heard Miss Bingley draw breath behind his back, as she strived to retain her self-possession as well as her balance.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet's? I am all astonishment!"

You are not the alone in your astonishment. What possessed you, Darcy? You will never hear the end of it now.

Under the circumstances, Darcy deemed it wise to avoid both Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bingley. For the remainder of the evening, he assumed his usual position in the background, speaking only a few words to Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet.

The drive back to Netherfield found half of the party at their most silent. Miss Bingley was unusually reticent on the subject of the deficiencies of the company they had left behind. She was only heard to say once how excessively tired she was. Mrs. Hurst alone was an obliging audience to Mr. Bingley's soliloquies on Miss Bennet's superiority.

"Come on, Darcy, what is the matter? I am sure you cannot be tired, for you have only stood about, hardly ever speaking!"

"I had not realised you had the time and the inclination to keep track of the number of my utterances. Now, when I am aware of your interest in the matter, I shall endeavor to satisfy."

Mr. Bingley was of opinion that a change of subject was perhaps called for. Alas, he was not very fortunate in his choice.

"Darcy, my friend, I meant no harm. I understand you may recoil from speaking to people whom you hardly know. But what is your objection to dancing, pray?"

"Bingley, your logic astounds me. Whatever for would a man wish to dance with people whom he does not find interesting enough to converse with?"

And why I suddenly wish I had been able to dance and converse with Miss Elizabeth, I really do not know.

"I spoke to Sir William Lucas and he regretted Miss Elizabeth being disinclined to dance with you."

Wonderful! Does all Hertfordshire know by now that I had been rejected? - Oh, we've got your attention now, eh, Miss Bingley? - Blast, how far away is Netherfield?

"If you must know, Bingley, I have been more or less compelled to ask her, in consequence of ... Something Sir William himself said. Luckily, she saw my request for what it was - mere politeness, and declined the offer."

Darcy's voice betrayed his irritation as he abruptly concluded,

"I believe I can safely promise you never to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

As he uttered the promise which only Miss Bingley could possibly yearn for, the carriage had entered the gravel path to Netherfield. Soon after their descent from the carriage, Darcy excused himself. Miss Bingley looked as if she were more than willing to accompany him, perhaps to strike the iron while the iron was hot, but alas! her sister was less disposed to act as a necessary chaperone to any such blacksmith venture. Thus Darcy was released to the quiet and solitude of the Netherfield library.

Dear Lord, your punishment for my behaviour yesterday is most effective. I do hope you take pleasure in it, for I truly do not. Such scorn and contempt I have never before witnessed - and well deserved it was, too! - in a woman's face. It serves me right.

Darcy's mood had changed completely. With Bingley taking time to berate him - yet again - for his apparent lack of social skills, and his sisters as their audience, he felt not a shadow of amusement. Etched on his mind, Elizabeth's expression now gave him more pain than pleasure.

He was relieved to find himself alone. Flinging himself into an armchair, he closed his eyes and contemplated the development of his acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Had he been in my place, he would have danced with her a dozen times by now, and very probably to the vast enjoyment of both parties. As indeed, he has, not a dozen times, but twice, yes. I, on the other hand, offend her abominably to start with, then stare at her like an inhabitant of bedlam, and then, apparently, offend her again! Not to mention my little heart-to-heart with Miss Bingley ... As good as swearing never to dance with Miss Elizabeth was a fitting conclusion to this masterpiece of diplomacy. What else could I have possibly done? Oh, kept quiet. Surely not!

Unable to keep still, he paced the room back and forth, when suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Excuse me. I say, Darcy ... Have I said something that affronted you? If so, I do apologise. Sometimes I carry on without thinking ... You are my closest friend, Darcy, always have been. I would not wish..."

"Bingley, there really is no need..."

But Bingley was adamant about it.

"I am sure I have said something wrong, or you would not be here now, all alone. It cannot be Caroline, for, compared to her usual goings-on, she left you in tolerable peace this evening."

You choose a fine time to become observant.

"Bingley, it is I who should regret my words. I was biting and sarcastic. I do not know what came over me. I ... Miss Eli ... Never mind. I was in the wrong. Forgive me. Can we forget all about it?"

Bingley's countenance lit up. He did not want a prolonged discussion either. The sheer fact that Darcy apologised was enough to overwhelm him and make him slightly uncomfortable.

"Why, my dear fellow, there is nothing to forget! Now, shall you join me for a little glass of port? I had such a nice conversation I had with Miss Bennet! She is truly..."

The next day was devoted to sport, and the gentlemen were engaged to spend the evening with the officers in Meryton. Darcy found Colonel Forster interesting to talk to, especially as they shared an acquaintance - Darcy's own cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, the younger son of the Earl of Matlock. Bingley was merry in every company, and the officers of -shire militia, a cheerful crowd of young men, were no exception. Mr. Hurst looked forward to the refreshments, of which there was always an abundant choice at Colonel Forster's. All Netherfield gentlemen enjoyed their evening to various degrees, and did not miss the society of the two ladies in the least.

Upon their return to the house, they rather soon retired for the night, understanding that the ladies had done so more than an hour earlier. Darcy excused himself first. He had managed to banish all thoughts of the previous evening's events from his mind all evening long, but as he lay in the dark, he felt them coming on in full force.

Tossing and turning, he finally buried his head in the pillow, whispering,

"How did I allow myself to get into such a situation?"

The apparition, light and pleasing in form, easy and playful in her demeanour, curled her lip and professed herself disinclined to dance.

Darcy hit his pillow hard with his right fist.

A girl who has nothing but her beauty to recommend her! Beauty which you proclaimed non-existing at the very beginning of your acquaintance! How did this argument necessitate staring at this very woman like a schoolboy - a mere country girl - you, who could have any woman of fortune and good breeding for the asking ... Willing to engage in an impromptu hop and skip together with silly girls and reckless officers! Get a grip, man!

He sat upright in bed. With a swift movement, he swept away the bedclothes and got up. The floor was cold, but Darcy did not feel it. Outside, the moon was almost full, lighting up the grounds from a sky cleared by the afternoon storms. Looking at the window glass, he caught a glimpse of himself.

What a laughable sight ... Even Bingley has noticed there is something wrong. And how I snapped at him! He does not deserve it ... Instead of protecting him from a foolish match, I was on the verge of letting people guess as to the possibility of the same in my own case! - Darcy, remember who you are. There is too much is at stake to be...

"This nonsense stops right here and now."

Part IV(a) ~ Mr. Darcy is All Politeness

Posted on Sunday, 9 June 2002

In which Mr. Darcy discovers the benefits of an early morning walk and Mr. Bingley continues being observant although he does not realise it

As he rose the following morning, Darcy was determined to remain true to his resolution. He quite liked the second Miss Bennet, and due to his ungracious behaviour at the Meryton assembly, he was resolute to be as polite to her as the difference in social station allowed, without giving her any occasion to entertain hopes of being able to influence him in any way.

In a few days, he would leave for London in any case. His business there could not be delayed for much longer.

There! Nothing and no one beyond the interest of my family and my estate has ever been able to affect me. This will not change. Indeed, how could it?

As he was assisting him dress, his valet informed Mr. Darcy of the presence of a houseguest at Netherfield.

"It is a Miss Bennet, sir. I believe she arrived yesterday afternoon during a rainstorm. Unfortunately, she appears to have come on horseback, and was taken with a heavy cold during dinner."

Elizabeth! Ill, and at Netherfield! Good God, how is she?

"Forsythe, how is the lady this morning? Is she any better?"

"I do not know, sir. Which coat would you prefer, sir? The black or the green one?"

Damn the coat! How is she?

"Would you inquire, Forsythe? Never mind the coat now. Go, man!"

The thought of Elizabeth Bennet lying ill a few doors away affected Darcy deeply. He stepped to the window and looked out. It was a glorious morning. The sky had cleared completely after a heavy outpour of rain the previous afternoon.

What was she doing riding in such weather?

Darcy stood with his back to the window, neckcloth in hand, and waited for what seemed an eternity. At long last, he heard footsteps along the corridor. The sound prompted him to remove his gaze from the door and resume his former station in front of the mirror.

The servant entered with a worried expression.

"I regret to inform you, sir, that Miss Jane Bennet is not well at all. The local apothecary has already been sent for."

So it is not a mere trifling cold! Jane Bennet?

"Did you say Miss Jane Bennet, Forsythe?"

"Yes, sir. The eldest Miss Bennet, I believe. The friend of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst."

"Yes, yes, thank you. That will be all."

"But sir..."

"What?"

"Your neckcloth ... If you would permit me to tie it, sir?"

Forsythe's fingers worked swiftly and expertly. That done, he allowed himself the liberty of donning his master the coat of his, Forsythe's choice, lest the said master would bolt out of the room in a waistcoat only.

"Oh yes. I quite forgot ... And the grey overcoat. I shall go for a walk before breakfast. It is very fine out."

"Indeed, sir. There, sir. I bid you good morning, sir."

Darcy nearly ran down the stairs, and out of the house. Once outside, he slowed down his pace and took the path which led towards the fields, away from Netherfield.

The long grey coat, which he did not bother to button, flapped behind him in the breeze. He walked with his hands clasped firmly on his back and with his head bent down. His gaze rested upon his boots, as if he hoped that by fixing his eyes, he would also be able to fix his thoughts on something or somebody else than the pervasive image of easy playfulness that had once again completely occupied his mind.

Jumping to conclusions, ignoring facts - it is Jane Bennet who is their favourite, of course, but I immediately thought ... - No, I was simply concerned about an acquaintance. Still am. Nothing extraordinary in that. Common courtesy. One would naturally be concerned ... - Now, business. I shall dispatch a letter for Mitchell this morning to prepare the London house. I will leave ... perhaps the day after tomorrow. Let me see...

He had by then approached a small group of trees amidst a field, approximately half a mile away from the house when a sound awoke Darcy from his musings. It was the rustle of skirts. He stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt.

"Miss Bennet!"

He bowed hastily.

"Mr. Darcy," and a small courtesy was all he got by way of a reply from Elizabeth, who was slightly out of breath from her three-mile walk across the fields.

Benumbed by the sight of the very person he tried so hard not to give any thought to, he forgot about all his resolutions, and could only rest his eyes on the bewitching apparition. Thus it was the bewitching apparition that spoke first, and somewhat haughtily. But Mr. Darcy did not observe the tone - it was with a moment's delay, indeed, that he made out the meaning.

"I have come to inquire about my sister."

"On foot?"

No, perhaps she flew over the fields! Darcy, stop talking nonsense!

"As you see."

Darcy was unable to hide a smile when he saw her reaction to his comment.

Rely on her to make a cutting remark whenever possible ... And here goes the brow, and she wrinkles her forehead ... How her eyes shine, it's most amazing! I do not care if she thinks me a half-wit. Which is very probably the case.

Miss Bennet was apparently less entertained by her situation.

"Would you be so kind as to take me to her?" she inquired rather impatiently.

On saying that, the lady apparently thought it best to reinforce her appeal with some activity to that effect, and so she turned in the direction of the house briskly. Darcy only had time enough to gesture her to lead the way when she had already done so.

He stood as frozen for one brief moment and let his eye rest upon her figure. Her dress was simple and unpretentious, and became her very well. Unfortunately, its hem was badly soiled by mud. Her boots were very dirty, too, but upon closer inspection, Darcy found his own to be no better off.

How she marches on, bonnet in hand ... Her walk is as sprightly as her comments ... What a woman - miles through dirt, just to see her sister! - Oh do not stand here like an idiot, go and talk to her!

But the rest of their walk passed in silence nevertheless. Elizabeth well nigh mastered the distance that separated them from the house when Mr. Darcy caught up with her. He had an impression he made her a most unwelcome companion, yet he felt strangely content.

He cast little sideways glances at her while they mounted the stairs that led to the house. Her eyes he could not make contact with, for the glossy dark ringlets bouncing by the side of her face, unrestricted by the bonnet, prevented him from doing so. But in this way, he could at least observe her without being perceived. Admittedly, he struggled with himself to direct his gaze elsewhere. Nevertheless, his boots had completely lost the captivating power they seemed to possess prior to their accidental meeting.

They parted in the hall. Elizabeth was escorted to the sick chamber. Darcy watched her ascend the stairs, his eyes fixed on the nape of her neck which the tiny dark curls upon it seemed to caress.

Just as she was entering the guest bedroom where the invalid lay, Darcy muster the presence of mind to say what should have been said quite some time ago.

But as staring does mobilise a man's faculties completely...

"I hope you find your sister to be better, Miss Bennet! Please be so good as to convey her my best wishes for a speedy recovery."

She stopped for a moment, and with what seemed to be a surprised expression, uttered quietly,

"Thank you, sir."

A moment later she disappeared into the room.

Darcy had just begun to reflect upon this unexpected encounter, when Bingley rushed into the hall.

"Darcy! Where have you been? The ladies have just declared you lost, and were about to organise a search party. I believe Caroline had a good mind to comb the woods herself, provided the weather kept fine! Hahaha!"

He slapped Darcy's shoulder and continued in more hushed tones.

"I wager she'd be happy to hear you were well looked after by a certain young lady by the name of Bennet ... But worry not, my friend, for she hardly ever leaves her chair at breakfast, and I, who do ..."

Good God, he is winking! He is actually winking at me!

"... made no effort to enlighten her who exactly was your companion in a morning constitutional. Why, Darcy, I never knew you to be sly ... Oh, don't fume, I mean no harm! Everybody knows you and Miss Elizabeth are hardly friends, but time may come ... Ah well, are you going to have any breakfast, or not? I was just going to instruct the housemaid to bring Miss Elizabeth to breakfast room at her leisure. I am eager for news of Miss Bennet. Jones was with her first thing in the morning, you see..."

"Bingley, you are rather in good humour for a man with an ill guest under his roof," remarked Darcy, in hope to divert Bingley's attention to the Miss Bennet he was comfortable discussing.

"Ah, Darcy, we will get her back on her feet in no time. I am confident of it! Everything that could possibly assist her in her recovery, she will have. And now her sister is here, we must have her stay. That will give Miss Bennet great comfort. Go on, Darcy, breakfast!"

Oh, so she is to stay. Well, I do not see why not. It's up to Bingley, really. Miss Bingley, I am sure, will be thrilled... Boots, Darcy, boots!

"In a moment. I must change, I look positively wild. I shall join you presently."

Darcy hurried upstairs, taking two or three stairs at a time.

She did not wish to speak... What could I do? ... Naturally, she was worried about her sister. I should not have stared at her like that... But she did not see me, did she ... Still ... And Bingley, of course, he was only joking... No harm in escorting her back to the house - the only proper thing to do!

"Forsythe, I'm afraid I will be needing another pair of boots."

"Yes, sir. A nice walk, I trust?"

"Yes, I found the exercise, um ... very beneficial. Thank you."

Part IV(b) ~ Mr. Darcy is All Politeness

Wednesday, 19 June 2002

In which Mr. Darcy has one very good idea and at least two cups of coffee, and turns his attention to an item of female costume.

When Darcy at last entered the Netherfield breakfast room in - alas! - impeccable attire, he was greeted by the ladies' exclamations.

"Mr. Darcy! I declare we have quite given up on you!"

If only you would!

"I am sorry I have deprived you of my company, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst. The weather was simply too fine to stay indoors any longer."

But when was the weather fine enough for you to actually leave the house on foot?

"Ooh, to be sure! Why don't we all go for a walk after you have had your breakfast?"

Miss Bingley's eyes shone at the possibility of walking by Mr. Darcy's side. She would prefer the event to take place in Bond Street, where somebody might actually see them together, but, well, who knew what the future held for her in that respect?

Her suggestion, however, was strongly disapproved of by her own sister and her husband.

"Are we going to have any damn sport in this god-forsaken place at all?" was Mr. Hurst's first statement after a muttered good morning, and his wife raised her voice to complain about 'the wretched mud everywhere'. Thus, the matter was settled, for Miss Bingley dreaded mud and its effects upon her costly apparel.

"I was just telling the ladies that they need not rely on your company alone, for we have had a most pleasant addition to our company since this morning."

Yes, they are clearly overjoyed.

"Indeed, brother, since very early morning, for I had only been downstairs but a short while when who burst in but Miss Eliza Bennet! What business has she scampering about the country when her sister is ill? And alone, too, and at such an ungodly hour! It is quite shocking. I am inclined to think, Mr. Darcy, you would not wish your sister to make such an exhibition."

Miss Bingley needed a companion in her indignation, and she aimed for the very best company there was to be had.

"No, certainly not..."

He stopped himself just in time. He was not going to gratify Caroline Bingley's wishes if he could help it.

Leave my sister out of this. Hers and Miss Bennet's circumstances are not to be compared. Besides, Georgiana is a child still.

Miss Bingley was already exchanging a meaningful glance across the table with her sister. Did she not say they were beginning to see eye to eye on everything that mattered?

But in courting Mr. Darcy's opinion, she inadvertently gave rise to her brother's determination to act as the elder Miss Bennets' champion.

"What can you mean by exhibition, Caroline? If anything, by coming here first thing in the morning Miss Elizabeth exhibited remarkable affection for her sister which only does her credit!"

Well put, Bingley. I could not have said it better myself.

Miss Bingley had always considered her brother's opinion to be of very little import, especially when Mr. Darcy was present. She hardly heard what he had said, and this made Darcy feel slightly sorry for his friend. At least he was not plagued by his immediate relations. He angrily sipped his coffee, with his back turned upon the company.

I can escape her, which is more I can say for Bingley. The peace in his home would only be forthcoming in the unlikely event of her marrying in the foreseeable future.

Bingley jumped up as soon as Elizabeth appeared in the doorway.

"Miss Bennet, good morning! I apologise for not receiving you properly just now, but from what I hear I gather you were well attended to by Darcy here. Pray, how is your sister? Is there anything we can do? What does Mr. Jones say?"

Everybody's attention was caught by Bingley's salutation. Miss Bingley was primarily interested precisely to what extent Mr. Darcy had attended to Elizabeth, Mrs. Hurst's mind was similarly occupied, although she felt an interest in dear Jane's well being, too. Mr. Hurst sensed another postponement of his long-anticipated amusement coming up. And Mr. Darcy...

...did not know where to turn.

Bingley! Do not go blabbering on like a fishmonger, for Heaven's sake!

To avoid everybody's eye in this most unfortunate situation, he bowed, his coffee cup still in hand. The clatter of the cup against the saucer echoed in the breakfast room. The noise made Darcy wince. He felt everybody's gaze burn against the nape of his neck.

Fortunately, Miss Bennet seemed not to take notice of his presence at all.

Humph! I am here, you know.

"Thank you, Mr. Bingley, for your kind concern. Mr. Jones is with my sister this very moment. He says she is still quite feverish, and that she cannot leave her room."

Bingley was struck by this report. It lulled his optimism of earlier on somewhat, but he hastened to reassure her,

"Miss Bennet, do not worry. I shall send for a physician directly. Jones is a good man, but your sister must receive every possible attention. I shall send for your clothes to Longbourn at once as well."

Elizabeth smiled at this attempt at an invitation, and thanked her host gratefully.

As on cue, Mr. Darcy placed the coffee cup that had much to learn on the subject of maintaining balance gracefully, on the breakfast table and joined Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth.

"If I may be of assistance... Dr Bridewell has looked after my family for years. Would you let me summon him, Miss Bennet?"

What did I say now?... Oh, all is well. She's smiling! I made her smile!

"Why, this is a capital idea, Darcy!"

Ah, yes. Indeed. Not bad. Do not go all Sir Lucas on me now, Bingley.

"I ... am exceedingly obliged, sir. However, I do not think that my sister's condition justifies bringing a doctor all the way from town. Mr. Jones, I am sure, is very capable. We would not wish to inconvenience you."

"It is no inconvenience, I assure you. We all wish for Miss Bennet to get well."

Darcy by now sounded quite at ease.

"Thank you. I believe my sister should be consulted first. Also, Mr. Jones has by now finished examining her. If you would excuse me..."

With a curtsey, Elizabeth Bennet left the room. Mr. Bingley followed her to speak to Mr. Jones.

"Louisa, did you see that? Really, she looked almost wild! Her hair!"

Miss Bingley lurched into a counter-attack. Her sister obligingly lent her a hand.

Here we go! HMS Caroline has loaded her cannons for the Bennet campaign.

Darcy resignedly moved towards the table in the corner and poured himself another cup of coffee.

I have a distinct impression I shall be needing it.

"And the petticoat, Caroline! I hope you saw her petticoat!"

Yes, let us touch upon all important points.

In all truth, Mr. Darcy had not, so far, given many thought to that particular item of female attire. Could one actually see a petticoat? Was it not its purpose not to be seen? Odd.

The petticoat puzzle presented him with a welcome diversion. It mystified him to such an extent that he glanced sideways at Miss Bingley, who was sitting very upright at the corner of the table, and let his look fall much lower than her face.

Is that a petticoat? - Decidedly not worth all the ado.

The moment he dismissed the vast importance of petticoats in the grand scheme of things, he was reminded that perhaps he would be inclined to harbour a different view all together regarding one of its kind belonging to Miss Bennet.

This conclusion drove him to apply himself to coffee pouring with newly found zest.

Miss Bingley's hand went in front of her mouth at the remembrance of the sight!

"Six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain! Mr. Darcy, you observed it, I'm sure."

"I must disappoint you. I was not paying particular attention to Miss Bennet's petticoat. I apologise for the omission. If you wish, I shall attempt to be more observant on this point."

He took a sip from his cup with true relish this time.

Miss Bingley's interest in Miss Eliza's petticoat and the presence of mire on it staggered rapidly. It took all her strength of will to single out the vital part of Mr. Darcy's statement, namely, his readiness to act in concordance with her wishes.

That was Encouragement! Thus Miss Bingley was not to be deterred: she proceeded to be scandalised by Miss Bennet's appearance, manners, and above all, her relations.

She could not rest before she fully briefed Mr. Darcy on Elizabeth's uncle Phillips being an attorney in that mud-infested locality that called itself Meryton, and her London uncle living somewhere near, if not actually in - Cheapside.

Try as she did, she was unable to provoke any response from Darcy, who remained in his place by the window, looking rather pensive and distant. Mr. Bingley returned to the room soon after, announcing jovially that Jones had supplied Miss Bennet with some draughts, which seemed to produce the effect desired. Therefore, there was no need to summon Dr Bridewell after all.

Mr. Darcy very properly expressed his delight, and the ladies professed themselves to be on the verge of absolute bliss at the news about their dearest friend. Mr. Hurst would gladly drink the patient's health, were there anything more substantial than tea or coffee to be had. But no one could match Mr. Bingley's elation, even if his sisters did make some feeble attempts at it.

There was no longer any excuse for the gentlemen to remain in the house, and they repaired outside to relieve some birds of their earthly suffering.

Part V(a) ~ Between Admiration and Doubt

Thursday, 27 June 2002

In which a billiard cue suffers mistreatment and Miss Bingley's intelligence network is exposed

The partridges and pheasants need not have feared for their lives that morning. They were in no great danger, least of all from Mr. Darcy, for he was finding it rather difficult to concentrate fully on this particular occasion.

The lowliness of her connections is no news to me. Her uncle in trade! This must materially affect her chance of marrying anyone of consideration in the world ... But ... How does that concern me? It's Bingley I care for, and his increasing attachment to Miss Bennet.

Mr. Bingley's mind, on the other hand, was far from troubled. He was on top form.

"Darcy, I say, very handsome of you - Uh! Missed that one! - ... to offer to send for Doctor Bridewell. But - By Jove, got it now! - Miss Bennet is not seriously ill after all, and I am very relieved to hear it! And, to tell you the truth - Fetch, Titus! - I am very pleased by Miss Elizabeth staying here. She will make sure that her sister does not dwell unnecessarily on the state of her health... Blast! Thought I was in there! ... It is nice to have an addition to the party. Do not get me wrong, Darcy. Only ...You're not the most talkative of people ... - Yes! Yes! - Erm, you know. Miss Eliza is a more lively sort of a person, isn't she?"

Darcy's muttered response was lost in midst of Bingley's victorious exclamations.

With the master of the house out of the way - Bingley was shut up in the library with his butler, presumably attending to the business which had been neglected since the morning of the previous day - he hoped to find some solitude in the billiard room. The precision required by that game appealed to Darcy. He knew he would not be able to indulge in any unsettling absence of mind that seemed to prevent him from having much sport in the morning.

Blast, I can't breathe in here ... I shall get rid of this thing, shall I? I'm safe.

Having laid his tailcoat on the chair next to the wall, Darcy aimed the cue carefully at the set of billiard balls before him. After a few minutes' swift movements around the table, he was absorbed by the game and rendered thoroughly oblivious of his surroundings. All he heard was the sound of the balls rolling over the green surface and their tumbling down the pockets.

This changed, as Darcy suddenly became aware of the rapidly approaching steps in the corridor. He straightened himself up, ready to encounter one of the servants.

Bingley is puzzled by his solicitor's letter again, I suppose ... Or better still, the solicitor was completely bewildered by the assortment of blotches and smears he had received from an unidentified client residing at a place called Nettlerash Dark ... I'd better get the coat then.

He was too late. Whoever had been walking the corridor had just appeared in the doorway. The person wore no livery, though, but a becoming white dress.

Darcy clutched at his cue for dear life. He would have much rather clutched the coat, and made himself presentable, or perhaps, he would not have minded to explore the petticoat issue further either. As it was, the billiard cue involuntarily acted as the rightful representative of anything clutchable, and was on the verge of being splintered.

What is -? - Say something, do something!! Stop staring, for one. Bow, man, bow! - Lord, you're not leaving, are you?

Without a word, and with merely a slight nod by way of recognition of the gentleman's presence, Miss Bennet was out of the room as unexpectedly as she appeared.

I suppose a game of billiards is out of the question?

Whereupon Mr. Darcy shamelessly used the cue in a most inappropriate and slightly painful manner against his troubled forehead.

Congratulations. Your descendants will be able to find the family name recorded in the Britannica after all. Darcy, conversational gambit a la. Schoolboy nonsense.

Angrily, he aimed at the red ball and struck. It was an accurate shot, executed with deadly precision. Behind it lay all his bewilderment with himself, the woman who inspired such an array of conflicting feelings in him, and their respective behaviour.

A good quarter of an hour later he was summoned to dinner. The meal proved as trying as he predicted, for Miss Bingley, having expressed her earnest desire for her ill friend's recovery, had little to say to anyone but him. A variety of subjects were introduced, ranging from Mr. Darcy's favourite dish...

"Pray, Mr. Darcy, why so secretive? Our cook is nothing compared to Gérard, of that I am well aware, yet she would, I am sure, do her best, if you would but..."

Well, I have never ... - One more spoonful for Caroline, Fitzwilliam, there's a good boy! And where did you find out the name of my cook? I swear the woman has spies in my kitchen!

...to his younger sister.

"How is dear Georgiana, Mr. Darcy? I have not seen her for ages, I declare I miss her tremendously. Such a countenance! Such manners! And so remarkably accomplished for her age! Her pianoforte playing is exquisite! I am delighted that our former master was available after all! - Has she grown much since the spring? Is she as tall as I?"

"She's by now Miss Elizabeth's size."

There, that will at least make you pause for breath, if nothing else.

His words, however, had another, a more unnerving effect. Elizabeth paused in her discussion with Mr. Bingley, and gave the man who was indirectly commenting on her figure, a look.

It only lasted a moment, but it was enough. He remembered the first occasion of his pronouncing judgment on her appearance. Darcy focused his gaze upon his plate and eagerly devoted himself to the food that had found its way there - somehow. His palate hardly distinguished any taste at all.

His trials were by no means over. Miss Bingley showered him with compliments concerning his estate in Derbyshire. Without the smallest provocation, or indeed, almost any kind of response from the object of her fondest wishes but a half-hearted nod or two, she praised everything from the gentleman's gardens to his music room.

Mr. Darcy's situation was indeed pitiable. On his left, one lady's look was resting on his every move, and on his right, another lady's attention was completely engrossed by his best friend.

I do believe if I were to choose between you and Mrs. Bennet as my neighbour at the dinner table, I would not hesitate for a moment. Her I can at least glare into silence. Oh be gone already, and let me have a few minutes' peace! I cannot hear a word they are saying.

Mrs. Hurst, clearly seeing that Mr. Darcy was at that particular moment in no mood to give consequence to young ladies fascinated by his Derbyshire estate - a conclusion perhaps originating in observing the very same gentlemen sigh deeply and roll his eyes slightly on more than one occasion, a symptom she was less inclined to attribute to the promising eruptions of delicate sensibility than the hostess - gave her sister a diplomatic hint.

"Caroline dear, shall we...?"

Although unwillingly, Miss Bingley retreated from the battlefield, presuming, as always, to be approaching her long-awaited triumph. Her sister and Miss Bennet followed, and the gentlemen were left to themselves.

They were to be separated from the ladies for at least half an hour, or until Mr. Hurst were to fall into a drunken stupor, whichever of the two would happen to occur first.

As soon as the door closed on the female part of the Netherfield party, Mr. Darcy sharply drew in breath and pushed back his chair.

"Darcy, I am truly sorry. I take it Caroline did not spare you during dinner. I wish I could do something to ... But I had a most enjoyable time conversing with Miss Elizabeth! She is indeed lovely, almost as lovely as ... Oh, did you know that Miss Bennet is an excellent horsewoman? Miss Elizabeth told me her sister had been riding since she was but ten! I told her you rode almost before you talked ... She thought that remarkably entertaining, for some reason. Oh, my dear fellow, if Caroline gets too much for you, let me know and I will see..."

Never mind Caroline. What was that about remarkably entertaining?

"I am well used to not listening to your sister by now. I was not aware, however, that I was also the topic of your conversation, Bingley."

All right, what exactly did you say? What did she say?

But his friend was not to be fooled for an instant. Bingley's eyes sparkled as he replied,

"Actually, Darcy, Miss Elizabeth and myself have discovered we have many things in common."

Blast! I am not saying another word. There!

"Why, you are growing quite a favourite with the Bennet ladies. Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth ... Miss Mary is next, I suppose. And the happy moment when," Darcy turned his eyes to the ceiling and sighed dramatically, "you secure the affections of Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia!"

Bingley turned a deaf ear to his friend's attempts at a diversion. He continued,

"Yes, now, let me see: we both have friends or relatives who possess superior riding skills. We both enjoy dancing tremendously. A fondness for living in the country is another matter where Miss Elizabeth and I see eye to eye. And, last but not the least - "

Yes, yes, Mr. I-Know-What-Ladies-Like Bingley...

"-we are unanimous in our opinion of you. Now there, ready to join the ladies? I certainly am, and Mr. Hurst is certainly not. Feel free to follow at any time, Darcy."

Part V(b) ~ Between Admiration and Doubt

Posted on Wednesday, 31 July 2002

His thoughts darted from one premise to another, yet a satisfactory conclusion eluded him.

Bingley crows as if he had outwitted the fox. For once, I have a feeling that ignorance may indeed prove to be bliss. She either thinks me a brute or a fool, and very likely both. What Bingley thinks by his nose-poking-out-of-the nursery behaviour, I really don't know. D- him! And d- my wretched tongue!

Darcy walked towards the window and in sheer exasperation hit the frame hard with both fists. The thump thus produced did not contribute considerably to his ease of mind, but it did prove instrumental in arousing Mr. Hurst.

"What...? Give me a weapon, Darcy! They are outside! Where's Bingley? Let us send for militia, quick! We cannot fight them all on our own!"

It took Darcy several minutes to convince Hurst they were in fact not invaded by the French. As to the origin of the sound which still resounded in Mr. Hurst's intoxicated head, he did not venture any explanation. Not completely satisfied by Darcy's assurances and hesitant to believe he was in no immediate danger from anybody or anything else than his own unsteady feet, Mr. Hurst set about joining the ladies with uncharacteristic zeal.

Mr. Darcy was not quite disposed to face the party yet. Miss Bingley's attentions, unwelcome as they were, were nothing compared to Miss Bennet's... Miss Bennet's... Well, lack of them, concluded Darcy much to his discomfort.

There is but little doubt that she feels something akin to repulsion towards me, and if I all of a sudden waylay her with a shower of questions, I might even have the pleasure of hearing of it with my own two ears.

Mr. Darcy shuddered at the thought. He wished that the earth had opened under his feet instead of just demonstrating the intention of doing so, at dinner.

The complete unreliability of the elements thus established, Mr. Darcy lingered on.

I'd much better keep quiet about it; assuredly, Bingley will let it slip what he meant by that remark...

'...we are unanimous in our opinion of you.'

Oh bother! Couldn't I just go and drag him back in here by the collar?

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, come and advise me! Mr. Hurst carries us all before him!"

Indeed, Mr. Hurst had made a remarkable recovery and was now apparently the holy terror of the card table, at which he, Miss Bingley and her two siblings were seated. There was no one else in the room.

Just as well.

Darcy was nevertheless slightly discontented that all the building-up of his defenses had been for naught. He was determined not to let it show, however, and with his back towards the card players - to whom he offered no advice or support and only the slightest acknowledgement - he reached for the stationery and hastily put the pen to paper.

Netherfield, Hertfordshire, November 14, 1811

My dear Georgiana,

I apologise for not having written sooner. Thank you for your last - I am very glad to hear you get along so well with Mrs. Annesley.

You speak of your lessons - I will spare you the geography examination this time, if you in turn promise you will play for me as long as I should require. If you should cry, Blackmail!, I shall only remind you of the rivers of Russia, and trust your good judgment.

I do not for a moment believe Mr.- exaggerates in his praise. I rely on his opinion completely, and attribute your repeated denials to modesty, which is only to your credit. Insufficient credit to excuse you from giving a private concert though - every resistance is futile in this matter.

Unfortunately, I cannot say at present when this much looked-forward-to musical evening shall take place. Mr. Bingley has only just settled in at Netherfield Park, and we have been much preoccupied by getting acquainted with the local families. They are, as might be anticipated, a rather less polished society than we are used to, yet among them there are also-

The door opened gently and admitted Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was immediately greeted warmly by the Bingleys and called upon to join them at cards. She declined and sat down with a book opposite to where Darcy was sitting.

Darcy struggled to keep his mind on the letter to his sister. Words did appear on paper with astonishing regularity nevertheless, forming sentences and paragraphs without much conscious participation on the part of the correspondent.

Half a page later, Darcy abruptly threw all his resolutions aside and ventured in what he believed to be a perfectly calm tone,

"May I inquire about your sister, Miss Bennet?"

Ah yes, The Mute speaks. You may well be astonished. A whole sentence and not a word of it offensive!

Elizabeth Bennet did, in truth, look slightly surprised by being addressed thus; her forehead wrinkled - in no manner unbecomingly - as she replied,

"I thank you ... I believe she is a little better."

What, what? Have I got ink on my nose?

The well of Mr. Darcy's creative imagination seemed to have been significantly drained first by the brotherly missive and then by his inquiry into Miss Bennet's health. So it was not wholly surprising to see him bewildered as to why Miss Elizabeth's glance should still rest upon his countenance.

She is hardly waiting for another rhetorical coup. Much more likely she is disposed to administer the coup de grâce. After all, it might take hours. Of course she is not waiting for you to open your mouth again. But why should she not be? Well, apart from the obvious reason - very little likelihood of it happening ... others have done so before her! With an astonishing degree of success, yes.

Mr. Darcy persisted to maintain eye contact with Miss Bennet for a few seconds longer, then turned in his chair abruptly and again took hold of the pen.

"You prefer reading to cards? Singular!"

Mr. Hurst's observation provided Miss Bingley with the perfect opportunity to tackle the new arrival. Miss Eliza Bennet was thus pronounced 'a great reader who took delight in nothing else'. Miss Bingley would do better to steer clear of the subject all together, but when was wisdom found at the bottom of despair? Her object was to make Mr. Darcy forget the letter, and in this, she did succeed. His attention was secured even before the great reader began to denounce the praise bestown upon her.

"I am not a great reader and take delight in many things."

Such as making fool of everyone in sight.

He could not take his eyes off her as for once, he was safe from her look. She had closed her book and her attention was directed towards the card table. Miss Bingley, however, lurched into a frontal attack just then.

"And what are you doing so secretly, sir?"`

That took Darcy rather by surprise, and he hurriedly set to his task again, very nearly splitting the point of his pen as he pressed it upon the paper.

"It is no secret. I am writing to my sister," he said calmly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Miss Bennet was still neglecting her book, and was listening attentively to their exchange.

Miss Bingley was delighted - everyone should be aware of the degree of the intimacy between the two families.

"Dear Georgiana! Please do tell her I simply long to see her! I have never seen a young lady so accomplished at her age, have you?"

Mrs. Hurst shook her head vehemently in response. Mr. Hurst grunted as this emotional gesture sent two of his wife's hand straight into Mr. Bingley's lap. Mr. Bingley cheerfully restored them without taking any notice of his sister's words.

Miss Bingley breathed in sharply and called upon him to perform his brotherly duty,

"Chaarles! Georgiana!"

Mr. Bingley registered from his sister's tone that something was expected of him, and his first reaction was to jump up from his chair fully convinced that his house party had increased whilst he had not been paying attention. Establishing this was not the case - for look as he may, there was no sign of Miss Darcy - he sat down again, directing his confusion towards Miss Bingley who had been responsible for it.

And surely enough, there came his cue.

"Isn't she accomplished?"

Mr. Bingley could almost be heard breathe a sigh of relief. Now he knew what was required of him, he could and did oblige with a proper accolade. And he did not stop there. He happily expressed his amazement at the degree of accomplishment of all young ladies; they painted tables, covered screens, played, drew, spoke French and German, and Lord knows what else!

"All young ladies accomplished! Charles! How can you say such a thing?"

Miss Bingley was not interested in all young ladies. All young ladies were not sisters of the man she should and would marry! All young ladies may as well incorporate Miss Bennet, and that was to be avoided at all cost.

But Miss Bingley needed not worry. Mr. Darcy was hardly any more disposed to class his sister with the rest of the young ladies. Also, eyeing the young lady immediately before him, he would be willing to bet every guinea he possessed that she did not have much in common with young ladies in general. Nevertheless, he felt obliged to assure his friend that he himself did not know more than half a dozen accomplished females.

Miss Bingley naturally agreed, whilst secretly counting the potential candidates on the fingers of her disengaged hand, now safely disposed in her lap under the card table. Who were the remaining three women? Moreover, were they ordered randomly, or did additional criteria apply to establish some sort of ranking?

Utterly unable to procure this information, she satisfied herself with an attempt at a definition of a truly accomplished woman for the benefit of those less fortunate young ladies who could only aspire to the ideal.

Her contentment was somewhat diminished by the fact that Miss Eliza Bennet, herself one of the less fortunate, claimed that she had never seen such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, united.

Miss Bingley wondered whether the impertinent girl had not eyes.

"To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

Miss Bingley stared at him over her hand.

This was pretty straightforward, Darcy. Little short of throwing yourself at her feet and cherishing the hem of her petticoat. Well, it is never too late. You may still fling yourself after her and seize it with your pale and sensitive fingers, thereby promoting your melancholy passion to a level Mrs. Radcliffe would be jealous of. Idiotic does not begin to describe it.

Having closed the book a while ago, Miss Bennet now discarded it on the small table by the sofa.

"If that is your idea of an accomplished woman, Mr. Darcy, I am no longer surprised that you with your superior knowledge of the world should know only six accomplished women. I am rather astonished that you should know any."

Miss Bennet excused herself and went upstairs to keep company to her sister. As soon as the door closed on her, Miss Bingley accused her opinions of being nothing but 'a very mean art' to court the opinions of the gentlemen.

Enter Caroline Bingley and the art of the logical somersault; which part of my opinion is she courting by challenging it for what it's worth? Well, my perfectly timed comment just now effectively puts me in no position to argue. ... Never had the word 'superior' had so much ring of 'inferior' about it... I'd be willing to listen to more disparaging comments if they were delivered with that amused expression. It is comforting to know I need not try to make a complete fool of myself. I am a natural at it, it seems.

Since Mr. Darcy could not object openly to Miss Bingley - the lady, after all, is never in the wrong, and a red rag should not be waved in front of the bull - he ensured she did not retreat brandishing the colours of victory by remarking casually that there was meanness in every kind of art employed for captivation.

This effectively brought the subject to a close.

Part VI ~ A Man Without A Fault

Posted on Thursday, 12 September 2002

In which Mr. Darcy finds himself in constant expectation of corporal punishment

"Are we to be invaded by every Bennet in the country?"

Miss Bingley, as happy as she was that morning to see her dear friend better, she would now be equally content to see the back of her, thus sparing herself the intrusion of Mrs. Bennet and the two youngest of her offspring - at least the bookish, spectacled one had had the decency to remain at home!

She was not aware of it, but this was one more instance of her and Mr. Darcy seeing eye to eye. Before the fair reader should gasp Herself into a predicament from whence little but a wholesome dose of either smelling salts or raspberry fool - or, quite possibly, both - could save her, let Her be informed of the following -

That morning the said gentleman partook of a ride, and something occurred that shook his already much tried composure considerably.

But first, there was the dream.

A man can hardly control his dreams, can he? I mean ... if I wished her to arrange my neckcloth when fully awake... Now, that would most definitely be wrong, and... I would never ... Would I?

"Sir?"

Unbeknowst to himself, Mr. Darcy fiddled - yes, fiddled! - absent-mindedly with the abundance of cloth that rested peacefully enough on his all but placid breast. In such state, his valet chanced upon him.

He glanced at his own image in the mirror, and there he saw...

Love's young dream, and all that. I swear this is catching. Bingley should be quarantined. In the cellar, preferably, and kept there on bread and water until he snaps out of it.

Yet the warmth ... The warmth that had engulfed him as he thought of her would not leave his limbs.

He knew the best possible cure for the madness into which he was slipping would be to leave Hertfordshire. This healing concoction seemed to him somehow unattainable. The crucial ingredient was missing; a plausible reason to occasion Mr. Darcy's exit.

I will not be off with my tail between my legs, and all for a myriad of contemptuous glances. My head needs clearing. But not by walking outdoors. The probability of bumping into lively ladies with gleaming eyes is much too great for comfort.

A ride it was then. No young lady no matter how spirited, could outrun a horse.

Mr. Darcy spurred the animal on across the fields until the house was well out of sight. He was as yet rather unfamiliar with the country, and he hardly knew where he was going. He did not particularly care for any particular destination either, as long as the distance between Netherfield and himself increased steadily.

"Lost, sir?"

Darcy looked around him and noticed a man in his forties, dressed in a long black coat, addressing him.

"Uhm ... I hardly know, to be honest, sir. But I would be grateful if you informed me as to my whereabouts, Mr. ..."

"Bennet. You are quite near to Longbourn, the home of my family. Meryton is some miles further in that direction. And what is your destination, if you have one, Mr....?"

"Darcy."

Mr. Bennet's face became a nuance less friendly, and the congenial smile quite disappeared, as he said,

"I see."

What is that supposed to mean? He was not even there. And she most certainly did not tell him. But the mother ... Girls tell mothers things ... And Lord knows that the mother in question does not hesitate to pass them on.

"I gather from your expression, sir, that the reputation which had preceded me, could not have been much in my favour," observed Darcy hoarsely.

Mr. Bennet would not wish to start the acquaintance on a wrong footing. His slightly ironic smile reappeared.

"No need to worry, Mr. Darcy. The horse that draw most, it's most whipped, as they say."

Mr. Darcy had always believed the consolatory potential of old sayings to be much overrated. His lack of faith in the wisdom of his elders could have been reinforced in this particular case by observing Mr. Bennet slap his walking stick against the palm of his hand repeatedly.

That walking stick, Mr. Darcy concluded, could have landed as easily somewhere else.

"You will understand sir, if I say that it has been known to occur that people proclaim views which subsequently they have been heartily ... ashamed of."

Darcy spoke with deliberation. There was something in Mr. Bennet's countenance that compelled him to attempt to mitigate the effect of his ill-placed comments at the assembly. The thought of explaining himself to a perfect stranger annoyed him - and yet this was precisely what he was doing.

Much to his surprise, Mr. Bennet nodded readily enough,

"I understand you perfectly. Some other time, perhaps, we might exchange our views - and opinions - over a glass of port. For now, I bid you good day, sir. Unless you would be disposed to join my family for tea. But I imagine your friends must be wondering what happened to you."

"Yes ... Quite. Thank you. Good day."

"Oh, and Mr. Darcy, a word of warning. Mrs. Bennet and my two youngest daughters are threatening to descend on Netherfield very shortly. Be prepared."

Mr. Bennet turned on his heels, raised his walking stick by way of goodbye, and set off in the direction of Longbourn.

Mr. Darcy realised that there was more than one member of the Bennet family who possessed the ability of making him at a loss for words.

The misfortune of having this woman as a mother-in-law could be matched only by the misfortune of having actually been born her child!

Mrs. Bennet, one foot barely across the threshold, had already gone into raptures over the sweetness of the room, treating her eldest daughter's illness as a mere conversation-opener.

Bingley, although rather confused in face of one eruption after another, was determined to finish a sentence or two. His sisters sought retreat on a sofa and were exchanging numb glances of disbelief. Mr. Hurst sat languidly in the darkest corner of the room with the intent of vegetating throughout the visit.

Darcy kept his distance, perchance still under the influence of an old saying, until he became aware that his friend had just proclaimed himself more than willing to make the country his permanent residence. This by all means called for immediate attention. He quietly interposed,

"You would? You do not find the society somewhat confined and unvaried?"

"Confined and unvaried!"

Mrs. Bennet was shocked, and this complemented nicely her views on 'the tall, proud man'.

"Indeed not. The country is a vast deal pleasanter than town whatever you may have to say about it!"

Oh, no, it isn't. Oh, yes, it is! My father's carriage is bigger than yours and I have two ponies to ride! ... How can I possibly beat your overwhelming arguments? I have no intention of explaining myself to you. Hang the Bennets!

Even his splendidly effective technique of glaring people into silence seemed to have failed him this time, for Mrs. Bennet was quite able to resist it whilst consumed with her just rage. Darcy had already distanced himself from the party, when he heard a familiar voice say with an exasperated tone,

"Mamma, I do believe you mistake Mr. Darcy's meaning."

My meaning mistaken and Miss Elizabeth my champion? Quick! Fetch the apothecary again! One of us shall need his attendance before soon.

By the time Mr. Darcy recovered sufficiently from his astonishment, Mrs. Bennet was already storming against 'persons who fancy themselves very important, but quite mistake the matter'.

Darcy was appalled at first, but soon his feelings dissolved into pure boredom. He was more irritated on Elizabeth's behalf than his own; he could, after all, turn his back on Mrs. Bennet - and he availed himself of the privilege.

His interest in the conversation leaped, however, as he heard Bingley say,

"After your sister's fully recovered, Miss Lydia, we shall have a ball."

A ball? What, you mean more dancing? Is he out of his mind?

"A ball?"

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst provided an impressively vocal echo to Mr. Darcy's doubts regarding their brother's being in possession of all his faculties.

"A ball!"

'Vocal', however, did not even begin to describe the joint squeal of the youngest Bennets, and Mrs. Bennet's ardent appreciation of Bingley's 'generosity and gentlemanly behaviour'.

Being quartered or dancing quadrille, where, I ask you, is the difference? Bingley may as likely accomplish the two in one, the way he makes himself popular.

Mr. Darcy contemplated the considerable likeness between the medieval instruments of torture and the elaborate and sophisticated variations of the same, referred to by some misguided individuals as 'the customs of modern society'.

Also, his memory obligingly came forward and reminded him of a promise he had uttered not so long ago, a promise regarding his choice of partners. He would soon be able to live up to his promise.

Suffice it to say that Mr. Darcy's heart did not leap with joy at the prospect.

Forsythe was greatly surprised to hear his master request a bath in the middle of the afternoon. It was unlike Mr. Darcy to have any unusual demands, but after five years of service, Forsythe began to observe certain inexplicable alterations in his young master's behaviour.

For one, Mr. Darcy had always been a sound sleeper. Now, it seemed, he hardly had a few hours' repose every night. Next, he had never before required that he, Forsythe, should go and require information of ladies' maids. Genteel and well mannered as ladies' maids undoubtedly were, they also as a rule possessed a very high opinion of themselves, a quality, which he heartily despised.

Then, the neckcloth. Forsythe's face fell at the remembrance. He had tied a particularly fine knot that morning, something quite new, not too restrained and far from foppish, in short, something that would ensure his young master made him proud, and what for? Only to see it tampered with in a reckless manner by the very same master to whom he had always looked up to as the model of level-headedness!

And now, a bath in the middle of the afternoon. How peculiar!

Warm water splashed over his bent head. For a moment, it swept away all unsettling thoughts. Darcy leaned back closing his eyes.

The valet hovered unobtrusively in the background.

"Your robe, sir?"

"Yes, please."

A moment later, the master of Pemberley emerged, swathed in a dark green robe, his dark curls dripping slightly. As Forsythe swiftly went about fetching a change of wardrobe, Mr. Darcy walked towards the window, towel in hand. Removing the curtain slightly, he raised his hand to dry his hair. He stopped midway, his gaze fixed at the sight which offered itself in the lawn below.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was absorbed in a tug-of-war with one of Bingley's dogs. Which of the two derived more enjoyment from their activity was doubtful, for the dog was about to trip over its own paws in enthusiasm, while the lady's cheeks glowed with that same healthy shade of red as the morning before.

He stood motionless and held his breath as if breathing would betray him.

"E-hem!"

Darcy instantly pulled away from the window and buried his head in a towel.

Forsythe must think me mad ... Blushing like that! And suppose she looked up and saw me. Yesterday without a coat, today ... Fine progress, Darcy. Now, if her father knew about this ... I would not need to be concerned about an excuse to leave Hertfordshire any longer.

The sight of his crop on the dressing room chair further disturbed Mr. Darcy's peace of mind. He bent over hastily and threw it into the open closet, missing Forsythe, who had been diligently employed in unfolding a shirt, by inches.

The hard-tried valet flinched, but held on to the shirt. Shocked as he was, the valet knew cold-bloodedness was vital in his line of work. Not that he had often needed it before in Mr. Darcy's employ. Was the daily strain of his post, increased twofold of late, about to be complemented by violence?

His employer did not register Forsythe's anxiety, nor, it seemed, its cause. He was, under the perplexed eye of his valet, sitting down on his bed, in his robe still, bent on putting his boots on his bare feet.

Forsythe was certain that a whipping would have given him much less injury than witnessing such abandon.

"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. It is so refreshing!"

He had turned a deaf ear to all her previous endeavours. But now, he raised his head from his book and eyed her with what appeared to be interest.

Miss Bingley immediately appealed to Mr. Darcy to join them.

One wheel too many to this carriage already.

"Gladly, but I am afraid that would defeat the object," was thus her answer.

Miss Bingley of course insisted to know his meaning. To conjecture about Mr. Darcy's behaviour in any other matter than his affairs of heart was, sadly, beyond her.

"I conclude that this sudden desire for a refreshing walk stems from the knowledge that your figures must appear to best advantage when walking. In which case, as much as I value your company, I may best admire them from my present position, thank you."

Steady on, Darcy! I did use plural there, didn't I? Apparently so, since Caroline is not beating me over the head with a poker. Yet.

Now, was that a Compliment or was it a Compliment? The fact that it deserved, in Miss Bingley's opinion, to be included in an anthology of Great First Occasions*, deafened her a little as to the grammatical niceties Mr. Darcy had been so concerned about, but who could blame her?

It was now imperative that this promising mode of conversation should be kept up. Thus she propelled, by the forearm, her unfortunate companion closer to the surprisingly eloquent gentleman.

"How should we punish him for such a shocking statement, Miss Eliza?"

Elizabeth Bennet who felt rather uncomfortable participating in such a parade, and had agreed to it for the sake of mere curiosity - which was gratified the moment she saw Miss Bingley's eye stray in Mr. Darcy's direction - now detected, at last, some possibility of amusement in her present situation.

She smiled and assured Miss Bingley that nothing could be so easy as punishing Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy leaned back in his chair in anticipation.

"Tease him ... Laugh at him."

I wonder ... Have I not bitten off more than I can chew here?

Nonetheless, the prospect of breaking a lance with Miss Elizabeth was strangely alluring.

Miss Bingley dismissed the suggestions by looking admiringly at him,

"Laugh at Mr. Darcy? Impossible!"

I should think not. You steer in the right direction for it to become more than a mere possibility.

"He is a man without a fault."

Dear Lord!

Darcy sat bolt upright in his chair now. The room was quiet. Miss Bingley held her head high, a most possessive look in her eye. 'This man is mine,' was stamped on her every feature. Her sister and brother could be seen catching their respective breaths. This was bold even by Caroline Bingley's standards.

The slight curling of the lip and the mischievous twinkle in the eye betrayed that Elizabeth Bennet alone saw the situation as highly entertaining, and had no scruples in capitalising on it.

Darcy gathered it was high time he regrouped his fleet prior to the onslaught, which was sure to follow.

"That is not possible for anyone ... But it has been my study to avoid those weaknesses who expose strong understanding to ridicule."

Not that it had helped me much around you.

Darcy's throat was dry; he was confident he would not be able to speak another word, much less any word of sense. Any 'good understanding' he might have possessed, he would at that moment gladly trade for the opportunity to explain himself to her who stood before him, a slight smile on her lips.

Would it really be so hard? He looked up at her. Had it only not been for that wretched observation, spoken in haste, and much, much regretted since! That out of the way...

His breathing was shallow and quick; his face grew animated. Could this be his chance?

Elizabeth was now standing quite close to his chair, fully facing him. The clear, self-possessed tone of his voice overpowered her momentarily - had she had a glimpse of a chink in the armour? She had hitherto believed there had been no armour - merely an obligatory moat protecting the pretentiously high keep in which there was nothing to defend.

This was intriguing; but she caught herself in time, and dismissed the thought. She could not have been so wrong in her assessment of his character - his every word bore the mark of pride and his porte-parole had only voiced the opinion he held of himself. Any further consideration of what he may or may not feel was quite superfluous. She would more than happily suggest the likely candidates for the weaknesses he spoke of.

"Such as vanity, perhaps ... And pride?"

Enough is enough! This is beyond ... I do not deserve it!

Darcy's cheek glowed crimson. He flinched, but checked himself. Before him, Miss Bennet's countenance lit up with the satisfaction of having hit home.

So, I am proud and vain; a delightful combination. Very well. Shall we take this discussion of human failings a little further?

There was to be no explanation or a disguised apology in a room full of people. But at least there could be a discussion.

Darcy thus set out, as calmly as he could, to answer seriously what was uttered half - or so he hoped - in jest.

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed, I grant you, but pride..."

Miss Bennet lifted an eyebrow in expectation. He could not be serious! Darcy refused to be influenced by her reaction, and stated with conviction,

"Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."

Elizabeth Bennet remained silent. Her head was bent slightly to one side, her countenance bore an expression of mock deference.

Say what I may, your mind is made up, is it not? So be it.

Lacking a proper response from her, Darcy's uneasiness mounted. It seemed that everyone in the room hung upon his every word, but the one whom they were addressed to. She eyed him attentively, and he detected what he thought was triumph in her countenance. He felt exposed; the true extent of her triumph, he believed, was clear to everybody present.

"I have faults enough, Miss Bennet, yet I hope not of understanding," he said impatiently. As an afterthought, he added,

"My temper I cannot vouch for. I might be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."

Elizabeth had become as absorbed by their conversation as the gentleman himself. She, too, had grown oblivious to the surroundings. She replied,

"That is a weakness indeed. But you choose it well, for I cannot laugh at it."

Darcy cast a sideways glance at her. Her smile was quite gone; she had grown very serious and grave.

Every amount of ridicule is better than this! Was it my wretched tongue again?

He ventured, in a spirit of reconciliation,

"I believe every disposition has a tendency to some particular evil."

Shall she make peace? - Evidently not, for there is that smile again! Oh good!

"And yours is a propensity to hate everyone!" she proposed quickly.

Her smile was mirrored in his. All was well. As well as it could be under the eye of the entire Netherfield party.

"And yours is willfully to misunderstand them."

I do not believe any misunderstanding is possible now, not on one point in the least. Do you?

Darcy looked at her intently, smiling, seeking her approval - or disapproval, it really did not matter to him at the moment which.

Elizabeth was about to retort, when Miss Bingley, who could no longer conceal the alarm at Mr. Darcy bearing with Miss Bennet's impertinence so long, suggested, with a touch of panic in her voice, they should have some music and bustled over to the piano, her eye on them still, as fearing her intervention should be in vain.

She need not have been anxious; her words achieved their purpose. The spell was broken; he suddenly distrusted himself. Where was all this leading?

He needed some time to reflect.

*Borrowed from Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night.

Part VII ~ Red, White, and A Touch of Ivory

Posted on Wednesday, 25 September 2002

In which Mr. Darcy discovers a new source of inner strength - albeit with a but short-lasting effect

Bingley had been jittery ever since coming downstairs. It was a splendid, splendid morning, and in his mind, one excellently suited to a ride to Longbourn with the intent to enquire about Miss Bennet's well-being. Directly after cramming one's mouth with a few slices of toast, that was. That accomplished...

"Darcy, get on with it, man, you have been at those eggs for at least half an hour! I want to be off!"

Mr. Bingley tapped the table with his fingers. Really, how could one think of food under such circumstances!

"I fail to see what my finishing the eggs or not has to do with your immediate departure," said Mr. Darcy with the air of a man who has finally found something solid and straightforward in his life, and was not prepared to simply let it go for the sake of another man's equanimity.

"It has to do with our immediate departure! Hurry now, or the Miss Bennets will dash off to Meryton or Oakham Mount or wherever!"

"Bon voyage," muttered Miss Bingley from above her scone. She took a nibble, and glanced sideways at Mr. Darcy. He seemed but little impressed by the prospect of Miss Bennets' hiking expeditions in the neighbourhood, so Caroline Bingley felt quite revived.

"Well, we will not see them here, I suppose. How nice it is to have one's house to oneself!"

Mr. Hurst mumbled, "One would expect to get one's share of sport, though."

Nobody deigned to give him any notice, so he concentrated fully on his kippers again.

"But I fear Mr. Darcy is mourning the loss of Miss Eliza Bennet's pert opinions and fine eyes..."

Mrs. Hurst and her sister shared a knowing look.

Well, that does it.

"Quite the contrary, madam. I am as far from mourning as can be. I'm looking forward immensely to crossing swords, as it were, with Miss Bennet. It is so refreshing to able to speak one's mind, is it not, and one must avail oneself of every opportunity of doing so. Bingley, shall we? Ladies, Mr. Hurst. Good morning."

The ladies sat agape, as the breakfast-room door closed on Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.

Their path led them through Meryton. It had been Mr. Darcy's idea. Determination was all very well, but some degree of preparation prior to facing Miss Elizabeth - and, indeed, the rest of her family - was necessary. After their drawing-room discussion he had every reason not to trust himself around her.

Still, if I am destined to behave like one moonstruck, it might as well be for a proper reason.

Bingley, who needed no preparation of any kind, kept hurrying his friend along. Nonetheless, they could not ride through the town at a full gallop - as even Bingley, for all his keenness, recognised the necessity of avoiding appearing before his lady in a cloud of smoke and dust - so they slowed down their pace accordingly, with Bingley's horse a few steps in front of Darcy's, and its rider eyeing Darcy impatiently.

"Darcy, look!"

By the side of the road, in front of the milliner's, there was a group of people conversing. For a few brief moments, the gentlemen from Netherfield were oblivious to all but to their former houseguests who were accompanied by their sisters and three gentlemen, one of them in his regimentals.

The ladies had apparently spotted Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, for there was a demure smile on the face of Miss Bennet. Elizabeth's lips were also curved in a smile, but she was not facing the new arrivals. Her face was turned towards the man in the uniform and his companion, and it bespoke great animation.

Bingley was off his horse, and was already dragging the bewildered animal, which had hitherto mistakenly believed it was its task to transport its master, and not vice versa, behind him, as he exclaimed,

"How very fortunate! Do you know we were just on our way to Longbourn to ask after your health?"

Miss Bennet blushed most becomingly as she replied,

"You are very kind, sir. I am quite recovered, as you see."

At this point the other two gentlemen present turned to see the newcomers who dared invade their territory. There was that Denny character, and...

What is he doing here?

The other man touched the rim of his hat slightly. His face bore a slight trace of a smile. He reddened, though, as soon as he saw Mr. Darcy look through him.

Darcy, in turn, was dead pale.

D-n the blackguard! I don't need to countenance this. I shall not countenance it!

His hands seized tightly at the reins, and he rode off, leaving behind a confused Mr. Bingley.

"Darcy, for God's sake, wait!"

Mr. Bingley received no response to his entreaties. As he finally caught up, he observed the ghastly pallor of his friend's face.

"What is the matter? Darcy, were you taken ill? What came over you?"

Darcy shook his head. He lifted his right hand slightly as if to stop Bingley from saying more.

"You met Wickham, I take it?"

"Yes, quite a good-natured chap, I thought. Give him a red coat, and he will out-swagger us all, as Danny said. He has already charmed all Miss Bennets, except..."

Darcy could not listen any longer. He pulled at the reins and made his horse stop.

"Bingley, you must have noticed the cold manner of our greeting. I have known him all my life, and you may rely on me when I tell you he is no gentleman. I cannot disclose the particulars. I had hoped never to lay my eyes on him again during the course of my life, and I fully intend not to in the future, if it can be at all helped."

Bingley looked a little overwhelmed. But if Darcy said that the man was no good, this had to be the truth.

"But should not we somehow warn the people of Meryton as to his dubious reputation?"

"Bingley!"

Darcy was rapidly running out of patience.

"We could not possibly make Wickham's character known without relaying the circumstances, and that is quite out of the question. The people of Meryton can look after themselves, I am sure of it!"

And so can the ladies of Longbourn.

The subject was therefore closed. Mr. Bingley, however, privately resolved to keep an eye on Wickham's doings, in particular on his behaviour towards Miss Bennet and her sisters.

The remainder of their journey passed in silence. In fact, after his last communication, Mr. Darcy spurred his horse on - in the direction of Netherfield, much to Mr. Bingley's disappointment.

A week later

A few minutes to eight o'clock saw Mr. Darcy firmly applied to pacing up and down his room at Netherfield. At the back of the house the clatter of carriages, which have already disposed of their burden and were settling down to await their owners' return, was overwhelming.

Bingley in his usual good temper and hospitality must have invited half the county, and would have invited the other half, too, had there been room enough to feed and dance them all.

All the officers had been invited as well. Bingley had approached him reluctantly about it, stating the obvious, namely, that he had to invite the officers, and could not exclude any one without stating the reason for doing so. Darcy knew that as well as Bingley himself.

He had been ready to descend into the ballroom for quite some time, having dressed early in the earnest desire to get everything over and done with as soon as possible. But the general public did not seem to share his wish, or so he concluded from the jovial calls heard outside. Darcy sighed and headed downstairs.

A carriage had just driven in front of the entrance. The door opened and a myriad of colours, cloaks, ribbons and feathers flooded the steps.

Darcy stood by the window. His motive was to observe whether Wickham would have the decency to stay away; but as he observed the lively group, which had only a little while ago inhabited the lately arrived equipage, he became keenly aware of another motive - and it did not dishonour him.

Standing out from the newly arrived guests were two figures, one dark and one fair, holding each other by the hand, smiling expectantly. The former happened to glance at the front of the building and caught a glimpse of a silhouette of a man standing in one of the first floor windows. He could not make out the expression of her face, yet he could well identify the curve of the figure and the posture of the lady.

Darcy resolved to seek retreat and composure in the ballroom itself. This, perhaps, was not the best of choices, as the room was already half full, and well, the musicians were tuning in their instruments, but a man cannot be blamed for trying, and it has to be noted that Mr. Darcy had brought the art of simply vanishing in a crowd to perfection.

Nothing quite like the prospect of being cornered by a Young Lady's Mother to teach a man to blend in with the surroundings.

He would stand there, his back turned upon the entrance, until he was perfectly sure of her actually being in the room and then he would try to...

See if Wickham is around. Invite him for a little rendez-vous? I'm sure the smell of powder would convince him that a permanent residence outside England would be a healthy option.

Momentarily possessed by the wish to collar that gentleman, his eyes scrutinised the faces in the ballroom. They fell upon the entrance, and ... He saw Elizabeth Bennet walk in on Bingley's arm.

A half-hearted attempt had been made by a frustrated lady's maid to subdue the playful curls, and an array of small white flowers was employed to this purpose. Her figure was embraced tightly by an ivory gown, which made her skin glow by candlelight. Darcy smiled to himself. His impatience for the evening to be over quite faded away.

There was another difficulty, though.

How exactly does one go about asking to dance someone whom one has vowed never to dance with, and go about it without being observed in a room full of people? Well, there's a conundrum for a rainy Sunday afternoon. Still, why should Bingley have-? Who is this funny little man drooling all over her? - Good God, she'll dance with him! But I suppose she must. What a ridiculous character!

Mr. Darcy walked along the set, with his eyes constantly on Elizabeth Bennet and her partner, who seemed to be doing everything in his power to trip over his own two feet and tread on as many toes in the process as possible - the toes in question not necessarily belonging to those same feet.

This is quite a spectacle. He could seek employment with a travelling show.

At some point Darcy could not withhold a smile any longer. He regretted it the very next moment, for Miss Bennet turned and eyed him with an unmistakable expression of fury on her face. Darcy moved on.

No use wishing for the thunderbolt to strike me, my dear Miss Elizabeth. It must be painful to see the tables turned for a change... But it was you who chose your partner, not I.

The first dance was over and Elizabeth's relief was evident. Once released by Mr. Collins - who promptly went on to honour his eldest cousin with his hand - she took her place next to Miss Lucas. Apparently, they had much to discuss, and Elizabeth looked quite upset.

No wonder, after such an exhibition. I wish to God the man had twisted his ankle.

I should not make so much of this. I shall go and ask her. She cannot say no after dancing with this half-wit. Now. - No, she has just turned her back towards me. I will wait. But if I wait too long... Bingley will be there before me. Or some bosom friend of Wickham's. Oh just get on with it! Go!

He strode across the room.

"...such conceit, it is -"

"Lizzy!" Miss Lucas caught the sight of Mr. Darcy approaching.

Conceit? Conceited? Who?

Darcy bowed stiffly.

"If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me, Miss Bennet?"

All right, bow again ... And be off. Oh, her answer. Have to stay around to hear it, I suppose. Well, what are you waiting for? One syllable, madam, one syllable!

"Why ... I ... had not ... I thank you, yes."

Elizabeth blushed slightly and looked as surprised as angry. Darcy hardly registered this. He could discern, however, the syllable he had been longing for, and having accomplished as much, he walked away, utterly disregarding the sounds of instruments being tuned up, a positive sign the dance was about to begin. He could not stand still.

Before he was in any serious danger to make Mr. Collins look like a highly proficient French dancing master though, he collected himself enough to wait for his partner half-way to the set and lead her there. It seemed an easy enough task to perform, yet Mr. Darcy was having some difficulty to co-ordinate walking, holding his partner by the hand, and suppressing the wish to hold her yet closer.

Miss Bennet appeared to be perfectly capable of reaching their place by herself, and was radiant with good health, thus his wish could not be granted.

I'd better not look at her. Search for a crack in the panelling and concentrate on that, rather.

He glanced down the set, only to see Bingley smiling to Jane Bennet, who smiled back.

Someone is going to wake up with a sore jaw tomorrow morning by the look of things. Whilst I am trembling as if I were at death's door, and not about to dance with the most beautiful woman I have ever...

The music began.

Darcy bowed. Elizabeth Bennet curtsied.

Their hands met, henceforward never to be strangers again.*

During the first few minutes, Mr. Darcy was perfectly content. He hardly noticed Miss Elizabeth's slightly puzzled look, but he detected that almost everybody in the room - save Bingley and Jane - persistently observed himself and his partner.

Whatever are they staring at? I haven't got a speck of dirt on my chin, have I? Impossible! I checked.

Darcy grew more nervous. His own feelings were such as rendered him far from calm to begin with, but to be under such close scrutiny, dancing with a lady with whom he publicly professed never to stand up with, and privately, that he should and would, by God, dance with her regardless, was hardly soothing. He was in midst of a desperate attempt to appear aloof, as Miss Bennet said with a sigh,

"I believe we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy. A very little will suffice."

Darcy was caught by surprise.

What, I am supposed to talk as well? Really, the demands on one in the present day society ...

"You talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

Ha, a question for a question. Not bad!

"Yes, sometimes it is best. So we may enjoy the advantage of saying as little as possible."

Darcy gave her a quick look.

Well, make up your mind, madam. Do you wish me silent or not? And pray adopt less of a schoolmaster's tone, I feel like I am about to have my ears boxed.

"Do you consult your feelings in this case or seek to gratify mine?"

While I hold your hand, I persist in some vain hope of the latter.

Miss Bennet seemed to be quite amused by this inquiry.

"Both, I imagine. We are both of an unsociable, taciturn disposition and unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something which will amaze the whole room."

To answer a question with a question has not, perhaps, been the wisest choice of strategy. What, in Lord's name, possessed me to ask her to dance?! I must have been mad! Well, you've made your bed, Darcy, now lie in it.

He drew in breath sharply,

"This is no striking resemblance to your own character, I am sure."

There was no reply. Darcy felt a mixture of anger and frustration. The hand which felt so pleasantly warm only moments before, now burned against his skin. He wished to clasp her hand and its sister hand in his and transport himself and their owner to some quiet place to ... He did not know what would his course of action be. He dared not think, for fear of repeating her previous partner's performance.

He tried to avoid her eye for the very same reason. When he finally looked in her direction, he observed she looked slightly bored, as if she were burdened with a tiresome chore.

Ah, yes, I'm required to speak.

"Mmmm ... Do you often walk into Meryton?"

If that's the best you can do, Darcy, you might as well be dusting the aspidistras.

Evidently, Elizabeth, too, was impressed by his rhetorical tour de force, for she looked at him pityingly, and assured him this was indeed the case.

Well, brevity is the soul of wit. Doubt that Shakespeare had this sort of thing in mind though.

Apparently, the lady cared not for brevity as she followed up on her remark with a hopeful,

"When you met us there on Tuesday, we were just forming a new acquaintance."

It had almost made Darcy stop mid-turn. He felt his entire body stiffen.

I see - why box my ears, if you can go right at the jugular?

His movements became rather automatic, and he declared, with every hope of putting end to the topic,

"Mr. Wickham has the happy manners that enable him to make friends. Whether he is equally capable of keeping them, is less certain."

I wonder - has he made another friend?

The coldness of his statement was even more pronounced as he was in fact on a good way to boil over with frustration. Elizabeth refused to restrain her own feelings; she declared,

"He has been unlucky as to lose your friendship in a way that he is likely to suffer from for the rest of his life."

Suffer indeed! I wager he suffered indescribably whilst crying on your shoulder, the b-d!

Her look followed him constantly. Her eyes pierced him, and made him feel as if he were guilty of the charges implied.

Well, I take it your mind is made up. That good-for-nothing liar has outdone himself. And there's precious little I can do about it. Accuse me openly, do!

Their reaching the end of the set seemed to present an excellent opportunity to compliment Mr. Darcy on his superior dancing skills and the beauty of his partner, or at least it appeared so to Sir William.

Had Mr. Darcy heard any of his utterings, he would have doubtlessly thought that the first one was a lie, and the second hardly something he should be praised for. As it was, Sir William Lucas's tributes were lost upon him, until that effusive gentleman ventured,

"...Especially when a certain desirable event takes place. What congratulations will then flow in, eh?"

Sir William winked in the direction of another couple.

What?! Bingley? Marriage? Has it come so far as to mention so casually! I was too wrapped up in my own folly - whilst Wickham has been crying on her shoulder - figuratively speaking, I trust...

It was their turn to dance again, and Sir William finally retreated. But Elizabeth wasted no time. The scowl Darcy had bestown in her sister's direction before he coaxed himself into performing the required figure, added to her determination to discomfit her partner as far as propriety would allow.

"I remember you saying that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was implacable. You are very careful, are you not, in allowing your resentment to be created?"

Careful, indeed! Resentment! I should have shot him on the spot!

"I am," was the curt reply.

"And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

One of us is indeed blind - how can you attribute any worth to his claims - where is your evidence? Ask yourself this before you put me in the dock, madam.

Darcy could not conceal his indignation any longer.

"I hope not," he said, and then, more gravely, "Miss Bennet, may I ask to what these questions tend?"

Elizabeth sensed that she had perhaps gone too far. There was something unsettling in the glance he cast on her; had it only been annoyance, or anger, she would have been content. But there was some other feeling, which she could not identify, but it was sufficiently compelling to make her smile against her will, and state she merely wished to illustrate Mr. Darcy's character. She claimed she did not get on at all.

"I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly," she added.

It was impossible to say anything further, as at that moment, the music ceased and the dance was over. In silence, Darcy led the lady away from the set. He bowed, and said quietly,

"I wish, Miss Bennet, that you would not attempt to sketch my character at the present moment. I fear the performance would reflect no credit on either of us."

She protested,

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."

Is this your way of saying you do not wish for my company in the future? That, too, can be arranged.

He bowed.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours."

*Echoing the sentiment of Louis Moore in Shirley, "Her fingers and mine can never be strangers more - having met once, they must meet again."

Part 8a ~ In The Middle of It

Posted on Monday, 11 November 2002

"This impertinent girl will do anything, I tell you. Honestly, Mr. Darcy of all people! There is plenty of her class of people about. He danced only one dance, and with her! I have known him for years, and never once had he so singled me out - Louisa, stop tugging at my sleeve!"

"Mr. Darcy, where have you been? We were quite desolate without you. Charles has left us, and there is hardly anyone we could talk to..."

"How fortunate then that you should have each other's company, Mrs. Hurst."

Caroline will demand Miss Elizabeth's head on a silver platter any minute now. But as the latter clearly does not give me any thought that is not immediately connected with that liar, I need hardly heed that.

"Excuse me."

Darcy proceeded alongside the dinner table to an empty seat next to Bingley and Miss Bennet. Those too at least were much too wrapped up in each other to attempt to include him in the conversation.

"-cannot produce any other information, I am afraid. I would advise your sister to be careful. I rely on Darcy; he would never say anything of the sort about anyone if he had not proof."

What, what? She wishes to know about Wickham, I see. No need to wonder why ... - Well, that at least shows good judgment.

He rather wished than believed it to be Miss Bennet's motive.

"Ah, Darcy, my man, we had you dance after all. But why so gloomy? Ah, I see," Bingley glanced to the table where Elizabeth sat, "Miss Bennet, your sister and my friend here are formidable antagonists. I wager he received a piece of her mind at every step he took on the floor!"

Bingley seemed to find much amusement in this idea of his, while in Darcy's mind an image formed of Elizabeth Bennet leading him down the set, not by the hand, but by the ear.

A very likely turn of events if I ask her to dance again. Not that I shall.

Miss Bennet ventured,

"You must not mistake my sister's lively manner, Mr. Darcy. She teases everyone."

Miss Bennet saw something akin to encouragement in the eye of Mr. Bingley's formidable friend. Her voice was reduced almost to a whisper when she continued,

"I believe that Li-... my sister is hardest upon the people she likes. She... I should know, I'm her constant victim."

This speech was almost too much for Miss Bennet. Her face became of a nice pink shade. Bingley gazed at her lovingly, so he did not see how his self-possessed friend clutched his fists and blushed crimson whilst saying in a hoarse voice,

"Thank you, Miss Bennet. That is most informative."

"Shall we have some music?"

Bingley resumed his duties as the host, stood up from the table and looked at his sister.

"Caroline, can we persuade you?"

Whether the assembled company's powers of persuasion would have affected Miss Bingley to a degree sufficient to bring about a demonstration of the fruit of her music master's labour and toil, remained unknown, for a short, spectacled figure swooshed past them all and sat behind the instrument with an air of determination.

Bingley managed to murmur with perfect politeness,

"Miss Mary Bennet! I see you have anticipated me."

Mr. Darcy was firm in his resolution that he would spare Miss Elizabeth Bennet the tediousness of his company. He considered this best accomplished by sitting himself with his back towards her, and trying to engage in a conversation with Colonel Forster.

Both tasks, however, proved unexpectedly difficult. The former, because Miss Elizabeth Bennet persisted in being sociable in the manner that invariably brought her into his field of view, and the latter, as Mrs. Forster kept exclaiming for her husband to comment on this and that. She was accompanied on these occasions more often than not by one or the other of the youngest Bennets, whose squeals of enjoyment were unfortunately the only sound able to smother their sister's evident lack of musical skills.

Once again shifting in his chair in an attempt to avoid looking at Miss Elizabeth, Darcy suddenly became aware of a small, stooping figure on his right who appeared to have trouble breathing.

"Mr. Darcy," panted the man, "I have made a remarkable, I must say, an amazing, discovery. I understand you are a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park-"

Which circle of hell am I presently in, and why is it that I seem to descend further down by the minute?

Darcy recognised the man as the self-shrinking individual who was present at his and Bingley's meeting in Meryton with the ladies of Longbourn.

"-Well, Mr. Darcy, I am in a most happy position to be able to inform you-"

...that my aunt has emigrated to the New World?

The man stopped to wipe his forehead. That accomplished, he bent closer to Mr. Darcy.

Someone really should tell Bingley's cook to go easy on the onions next time.

"-that her ladyship was in the best of health eight days ago."

Well, I thought the New World was a bit far fetched, if appealing, idea. Pity. Still... He shows no sign of extricating himself out of my breast pocket, so I must take appropriate measures myself.

"I am very happy to hear it."

Darcy stood up, looming over the gentleman who claimed his aunt's acquaintance.

"And what is your name, sir?"

The man stood there, wide-eyed, obviously prepared to faint or be consumed by palpitations, whichever came first.

"Wi-William Collins. Mr. Darcy, I have very great honour..."

But Mr. Darcy was already gone.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Mr. Bennet had stepped in, unfortunately at a somewhat inappropriate moment. His unmusical daughter looked devastated. Mr. Collins found himself utterly unable to keep to his seat. The elation he had experienced in locating a nephew of his distinguished patroness in the very same room as his humble self, had affected him deeply. He moved backwards to the instrument, taking the advantage of the momentary silence, and declared at the top of his voice he should have great pleasure to oblige the company with an air.

Darcy lifted his eyebrows in disbelief.

No wonder her eyes are glued to the floor! - And she despises me! Well, so much the better. I am spared much trouble and mortification, so I may congratulate myself. Yes, I have had a lucky escape. But Bingley - something must be done there.

"-has taken quite a fancy to Lizzy. And I don't think he could find a better wife."

Mr. Darcy, for one, found it virtually impossible not to hear this comment of Mrs. Bennet's, lest he should cover his ears and take refuge in the hallway. But, as the fair reader knows, the hallways tend to be extremely draughty and it would be positively reckless to stand in one. It is highly doubtful whether this objection should have stopped Mr. Darcy; yet when Mrs. Bennet mentioned her second daughter, somehow the hallway's charms had lost their appeal.

"He favoured Jane at first, but Bingley was there before him. Now that will be a great marriage! And of course, it will throw the younger girls into the paths of other rich men. Mr. Collins is not so wealthy, perhaps, yet his connections-"

Collins! I don't believe it. She will have her daughter sold - for there is hardly a better word for it - to that perspiring toad who has nothing in the world to recommend him but the fact that my aunt chooses to scold him at her heart's content. Positively sickening!

For a man who had had a fortunate escape, Mr. Darcy's features expressed an astonishingly small amount of relief and satisfaction.

"A remarkable evening, was it not? Caroline, Louisa, I cannot thank you enough. Everything was perfect! Everybody said so. I enjoyed myself tremendously, and so did everybody else, I am sure. I say, Hertfordshire begins to feel more and more at home to me! Time may come- But I wish I did not need to go to London tomorrow! I promised to call on Miss Bennet... Darcy, must I go to town?"

Mr. Darcy, at that moment still under influence of the blow delivered to him by Mrs. Bennet's last speech, had a rather good idea where Bingley should go. The Orkneys, for instance, looked promising as regards putting as large a distance between the said gentleman and Hertfordshire as possible. And he would gladly keep him company were it not for...

The image of Elizabeth as he took her hand, gazing at him with a mixture of playfulness and the resolve to make him speak against his inclination, took turns with seeing her standing at the altar next to Mr. Collins. Darcy shuddered at this and shook his head to rid himself of this horrifying apparition.

"Oh! Yes, exactly what I thought. It is far from necessary. I shall send a letter. Surely Robertson can..."

Fortunately, the ever-alert Miss Bingley was close by.

"Why should Charles not go to London, Mr. Darcy? Are you taking us to Pemberley for Christmas? Oooh!"

Part 8b ~ In The Middle of It

Posted on Monday, 11 November 2002

Miss Bingley sat up straight in expectation. Pemberley! At Christmas! Mrs. Hurst's eyes brightened. What a fine thing for her sister! The fatigue both ladies had felt only moments ago, after the last guests have left Netherfield, seemed to be quite a matter of the past.

Bingley, however, did not seem to share their feelings.

"I say, Darcy, I have been rather looking forward to spending Christmas at Netherfield. It was all of you," he glanced reproachfully at his company, "who kept hurrying me to settle somewhere, anywhere, and now when I finally have, you cannot wait to scuttle off to another part of the country!"

When, precisely, have I managed to invite Caroline Bingley to Pemberley at Christmas? And make Charles more intent than ever not to quit Hertfordshire - he actually produced sane arguments this time. Right. The end is near. I can see it through the mist... A grey, awe-inspiring building, with screams resounding from within its walls, a worn plaque looming over the entrance, stating in dilapidated letters, 'Bedlam'.

"Bingley, I had no intention of..." attempted Darcy, but Miss Bingley had a few mental images of her own.

"Oh, Charles, how can you be so stupid! Christmas at Netherfield would be charming, to be sure, but Christmas at Pemberley..." Miss Bingley stopped briefly to relish in the idea of herself disembarking a carriage in front of Mr. Darcy's home, clad in the full regalia of its future mistress.

Mr. Darcy mistook her state of enthrallment for an actual pause in conversation and hurried to continue his sentence.

"...-of denying the necessity of your going to London tomorrow. I-"

Miss Bingley, who had stumbled upon an obstacle in her imaginings - what exactly should she wear? - fervently supported the idea.

"Oh yes, Charles, indeed you must go, and Louisa and I shall very probably join you for we need to visit Madame ----. I think the occasion requires a slight addition to our wardrobe, is it not so?"

Err, something whitish, with a veil? If I get a word in quickly, I might prevent the banns being read this Sunday.

"As I was saying... Bingley, there is nothing like conducting one's business in person. In this way, you can rest assured your interests are being looked after properly."

And behaving like a man of two and twenty and the head of a family should. But that is another matter.

"As for Christmas, nothing will give Georgiana and myself more pleasure to have you as my guests-"

Miss Bingley exchanged an exultant look with her sister.

"-at my house in Town on Christmas Eve."

It appeared Miss Bingley had tripped over the skirt of her elaborate ball gown. Fortunately, a sofa which her sister had been occupying, was close by to offer support to herself and her thwarted hopes, therefore she very elegantly proceeded to collapse on it.

Forsythe had been told his services were not required, and retired with a perplexed expression on his face. He no longer attempted to find the reason behind his master's oddities. It was, it had to be a Woman!

The valet deemed his master well guarded from any endeavours on the part of the scheming feminine minds, and had himself witnessed how impossible it was for their aspirations to ever come to pass, Miss Bingley's in particular. But now...

"Something is most definitely up, mark what I say!"

Forsythe pointed his index finger at his master's tailcoat, which he had been brushing since banished from Darcy's dressing room. The garment, as if acceding to its share of the alleged blame, hung from his arm listlessly.

Meanwhile, in his bedchamber, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood with his back to the window. He had only dispensed with the coat, and dismissed his valet. He vowed to consider matters calmly and composedly, yet his current state of mind was everything but tranquil and self-possessed. He needed to think of Bingley's entanglement with Miss Bennet, and how to best resolve the situation. The lady was kind and gentle, true...

I doubt she ever spoke so much in Bingley's presence than when she assured me her sister ... She smiles and then she smiles some more. There can't be much affection there. Her sister, now, well, was that teasing?... Her touch on my hand ... The eyes were full of - censure, I presume it must have been - still, her fingers on my palm...

The myriad of sensations, all of them highly disconcerting, but far from disagreeable, felt by him from the moment he proposed a dance to Elizabeth, ran through his body.

Unfortunately, they could not be separated from all other events he witnessed that night. It was impossible for Darcy to ignore the improprieties in which the members of Elizabeth's family, save herself and her elder sister, indulged. Nor did he wish to ignore them.

I, connected to such people; never! - Not that I will ever need to consider it. She will soon be forced to think of matrimony, though, judging by Mrs. Bennet's indiscretions! But her father cannot allow it.

Darcy remembered his own meeting with Mr. Bennet well. He harboured no doubt in his mind that his, Darcy's, own suit would have as little hope of success as Mr. Collins's. Yet there was one man in Hertfordshire who might persuade both father and daughter, ignorant as they were of his true nature.

What is to be done? I cannot let her be sweet-talked into something she will regret for the rest of her life! Granted, she is more than capable of handling the situation herself; she had no scruple in making it evident - on several occasions - she found my company unpleasant!

Likewise, Mr. Wickham could by now be in no degree uncertain whether his company had been found loathsome or not.

A sneer flitted over Darcy's face.

I have come far! Jealous of -!

He endeavoured to suppress the inferior emotion. Instead, he resolved to think of all the pleasant moments he had spent in Elizabeth Bennet's company since the beginning of their acquaintance. He closed his eyes and waited a few moments. And, as he had expected, it did not last long before the sight most agreeable to him, had indeed appeared, as she was one morning merely a fortnight ago.

A snap of the wood burning in the fire interrupted the stillness of the night. Darcy hastily unbuttoned his waistcoat and leaned on the fireplace. He did not feel the closeness of the fire. His entire being had been affected by a flame, sparkled up he knew not exactly when, but blazing by now.

"Good morning, sir."

Forsythe tried not to look too astonished when he discovered Mr. Darcy had spent the night in his clothes, save for the waistcoat which had been discarded on an armchair in front of the fireplace. He attended to his master in silence. Yet he had a commission.

"Sir, if I may...?"

Mr. Darcy gave no sign of either approval or annoyance. His valet therefore ventured,

"I was instructed by Mr. Bingley's gentleman, sir, to give you this."

Forsythe exited discreetly.

It was a letter; it did not appear to contain more than one and a half sheet of paper. It was not sealed. Darcy unfolded it. In doing so, a smaller piece of paper flew out onto the floor. It was promptly picked up and read.

I am for Town, as everybody thinks I should go, but I will be back shortly. Would you mind having a look at this and telling me what you think? My hand shook throughout, why, I believe it to be still shaking now! Anyhow, I thought you would know if it is done properly. Well, not that you have had any experience in such matters, as far as I know, but two heads are better than one, and I know I can rely on you not to lose yours. I am fairly lost myself, don't mind telling you, head, heart and all the rest of it, but I'm sure you have noticed it already.

Thank you for your help, Darcy. I am in your debt, as always,

Bingley

It was still rather early when Mr. Darcy deposited his horse in Colonel Forster's stable. He was with the Colonel a few minutes later.

"Mr. Darcy, this is an unforeseen pleasure! What brings you here so early?"

"I apologise for disturbing you, sir. I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you."

Such a beginning intrigued Colonel Forster. He sat down, and motioned to Mr. Darcy to do the same. Yet the young man insisted on remaining standing. He also appeared to be extremely nervous.

"Sir, I possess ... That is, I have some time ago found out a very unpleasant piece of information regarding the character of one of your officers."

"Indeed? Pray, would you mind explaining yourself? This is a rather serious accusation, after all."

"Naturally. Before I proceed any further, I wish to assure you I would never speak of this were I not wholly convinced that what I am about to say is true."

Colonel Forster bowed.

"I rely on your honour as a gentleman, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy accepted the acknowledgement silently. He continued,

"I have reasons to believe that one of your officers - to name him outright - Mr. George Wickham, exhibited at least one occasion, behaviour unworthy of a gentleman. I cannot disclose the particulars, sir, as they were entrusted to me in strictest confidence. Suffice it to say that," Darcy's voice took on a sarcastic tone to pronounce the word, "Mr. Wickham had tried - and almost succeeded - to convince a young lady of a much higher social standing than his own, to agree to an elopement."

He drew in breath sharply.

"Mr. Darcy-"

"It has only been a few days since I have become aware of Mr. Wickham presence in Meryton. I hoped his character improved somewhat since our paths had crossed last. Shortly after, I have noticed signs that prove quite the contrary. I saw it as my duty, sir, to present these facts to you."

"And what are the signs that you speak of, sir?"

This inquiry was not so readily answered as the previous one. Mr. Darcy took a few steps towards the window, glanced through it, and seemed to find the early morning bustle of Meryton fascinating.

With the corner of his eye, Colonel saw what he could almost swear to be a touch of red on Darcy's cheek. He cleared his throat diplomatically, as his visitor abruptly turned to face him.

"Excuse me, Colonel. I am ... slightly preoccupied. I leave today for London and-"

He collected himself.

"It has recently been made known to me, sir, that Mr. Wickham has made overtures to a certain young lady the extent of whose fortune he may have mistaken; his motives may not be of mercenary, but of libertine nature. Whichever it is, I merely wish to put you on your guard, as you are the only person I could consult. The lady herself has no reason to doubt his character. She cannot know what I- ... It is all that is in my power to do, sir."

Colonel Forster lifted his hand as to stop him.

"I am sorry if I have made you feel your - uhm, initiative is in any way unwelcome. On the contrary, I am most grateful that you have brought this matter to my attention. I have already heard reports from other sources - there have been complaints, sir, which corroborate your communication. Not that I had any misgivings about it, Mr. Darcy. I realise how ... unpleasant it must have been, as you had been told about it in confidence. Rest assured it will not leave this room."

Mr. Darcy bowed in recognition of this statement.

"However, apart from keeping an eye on Mr. Wickham, I am not at liberty to take any other action. I promise you, nevertheless, to observe his actions closely, and should the need arise, inform the lady's parents or guardians of Mr. Wickham's - unsuitability, shall we say?"

Colonel observed a change in his visitor's behaviour. Mr. Darcy remained grave, yet he also appeared relieved. He thoroughly approved of Colonel Forster's suggestion.

I could not have her be in danger of falling prey to that blackguard. At least I will know her to be safe.

He was ready to leave Hertfordshire. Yet - there was the letter still, and all the consequences that would arise from it.

Part IX ~ It Was Done For The Best

Posted on Friday, 29 November 2002

In which Mr. Darcy has a lot on his mind, amongst other things, the concern for his own mental health

Netherfield, November 27, 1811

Dear Madam,

Pray excuse my forwardness in addressing you in this manner. We have parted only hours ago, and the pleasure of your company this evening gives me the courage to write these lines. I trust to your generosity and kindness you shall read them without thinking me in any way presumptuous.

Darcy felt as if he were intruding, reading these lines, regardless of the fact he was doing so on Bingley's request. His trust once again assured Darcy of their friendship. It was in the interest of this friendship he felt compelled to act.

The content of the letter did not surprise him. It was the true, genuine feeling behind it, which affected Darcy the most. Never before had he read - or written, for that matter - any letter of such nature. His friend really and truly loved Miss Bennet.

He carefully put the letter on the desk, wishing to keep it unharmed. He wished the same for its author.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

Evidently, Miss Bingley had to some extent recovered from the previous night's disappointment. One festive evening, after all, may do a great deal, and her spirits rallied in anticipation of Christmas which was not even a month away.

"I wish to discuss with you a matter concerning your brother."

Miss Bingley did not wish to discuss her brother at all. There were so many more engaging subjects she and Mr. Darcy could touch upon. Mrs. Hurst, however, leaned forward with considerable interest in her eye.

"Yes?"

"I believe it did not escape your notice that he has been expressing a marked preference for one of the Hertfordshire ladies."

Mrs. Hurst smiled and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, you know how it is with Charles! If one would listen to him, one would think ... But it always passes, usually more quickly than it has begun."

Yet Darcy persisted,

"While I agree with you that Bingley tends to engage his affections often, and hastily, I believe his intentions to be of serious nature this time."

"Oh, how can it be? He would never marry Jane Bennet!"

Miss Bingley, quite unintentionally, was guilty of the unspeakable: she doubted Mr. Darcy's words. Mr. Darcy, fallible? Even that, it seemed, was conceivable, when Caroline Bingley's attention was called to such trifling details as her brother's affections.

"On the contrary, madam. I have myself seen the letter, containing a proposal of marriage."

This statement, very properly, raised some sisterly eyebrows, even though the speaker's tone indicated that he could do without the full dramatic honours. Proving the ladies wrong held no triumph whatsoever for Darcy; he was most anxious to bring the discussion to an end.

Allies I need to have and as I cannot choose them...

"I presume we agree it would be a most imprudent connection. Therefore," Darcy hurried on, "I suggest we follow your brother to London tomorrow morning and place before him the evils of such a choice. I shall take on the latter task myself, you need not concern yourselves with it."

Miss Bingley could hardly contain her joy at the prospect of a journey to Town in the company of Mr. Darcy. For a short while, she had indeed succeeded in utterly disregarding the fact that her brother's marriage would not only endanger her social standing, but also bring into the bosom of her family the impertinent girl who had danced with Mr. Darcy, while she, Caroline Bingley, who should have had the privilege of his hand - in every meaning of the phrase - was left to stand by and observe that travesty!

This moment of realisation was crucial in providing Mr. Darcy with her eager support.

Oh no. I can see the image that must be forming in Caroline's head right now: She and I against the world, that is, Bingley and the wicked Bennets.

"By all means. I am sure we will be able to make Charles see reason. Come, sister, we must see that our things are packed properly. You must speak to Mrs. Dawkins. We are not likely to return to Netherfield for some time, I think."

Mrs. Hurst was already considering the practicalities of their removal to Town and had a good mind to ensure that her hopeful sister followed her example. For once, an action by Mrs. Hurst filled Mr. Darcy's breast with a feeling akin to gratitude, normally reserved for moments when either - or both - Bingley's sisters relieved him of their presence.

Claiming to have business to attend to prior to their morning departure, he gladly left the ladies to their elaborate preparations.

He glanced anxiously at the sky. It appeared to be clear, and there was at present no sign of rain, and therefore no need to vanquish his noble plan of letting the ladies have the carriage to themselves.

Thank heavens! Who knows what I might have otherwise ended up saying to Bingley upon arrival! 'Make haste and get thyself to Longbourn before the day is over' would present itself as a distinct possibility.

But Mr. Darcy did not concern himself merely with the fear of being trapped within yards of Miss Bingley for hours. He had been giving a lot of thought to how precisely he was to open his friend's eyes to the truth. His heart was heavy, and not only with the anticipation of a most unpleasant conversation.

I needed no disclosure from anyone ... It was painfully obvious.

Darcy kept telling himself that his and Bingley's situations were hardly similar.

Indeed. He was not treated with contempt. But it was well deserved, after all.

Through the sound of the hooves and the rattle of the carriage, his own words echoed - 'She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.'

He winced.

And to think ... I would not be averse to penning a letter to the very same purpose. But this is madness, and it cannot last long!

Bingley had recovered from the surprise at being able to greet his sisters, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Darcy in London so shortly after leaving them all behind in Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley was of a happy disposition and utterly unable to sustain himself without a range of acquaintance surrounding him. Therefore he rather quickly ceased to wonder at their unexpected arrival and accepted it as a most welcome fact.

The ladies retired to their rooms to rest, apparently having forgotten their enthusiastic support of Mr. Darcy's mission to save his friend from an imprudent marriage. Mr. Hurst, blissfully unaware of any such purpose of their sojourn to Town, decided to see whether any friends from his bachelor days were at his club. Mr. Darcy was therefore left to his own devices. He half expected Bingley to endeavour to persuade him to venture out into company - any company - as was his custom, but Bingley for once expressed no such inclination.

Instead, as soon as they were alone, Bingley turned to him and said, with a nervous smile on his face,

"So? Have you read it? Did I ...? Was it all right, you think? Tell me, man, I cannot endure this any longer!"

Just as Mr. Darcy felt his courage almost failing him, there was hustle and bustle to be heard from the hall.

First, there was a cry to be heard, then muffled conversation and the sound of approaching footsteps, and, finally, a soft knock on the library door. A head full of flaxen curls thus addressed a pair of very surprised gentlemen,

"Forgive me, William. Good evening, Charles. I did not mean to interrupt. Mrs. Annesley and I have just arrived, and I was the one who wished us here directly, William. I could not wait for you to come to the house, and I am afraid I was the cause of the commotion. Apparently, they thought I had come to stay, and started transporting the trunks from the carriage before I could stop them. I hope it did not disturb Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley."

A moment later, Miss Georgiana Darcy found herself in the arms of her astonished brother.

Her impetuous decision to hasten to see him amazed no one more than Georgiana herself, as did her lengthy speech moments before. Yet she could not help it. She had been counting days until Christmas, which would bring them together again, only to receive a letter the day before which announced his arrival to Town almost three weeks earlier than it had been expected.

'William', as she called him - a habit from days when pronouncing his entire Christian name presented an unsurpassable difficulty - felt her entrance to be nothing short of a godsend. The library of the house in Grosvenor Street suddenly seemed to be the most comfortable place in the entire England.

Georgiana, although remarkably unsure of herself in company, was confident enough in the presence of her brother and his friend. She answered all his inquiries about her lessons, her painting, her uncle and aunt with whom she had stayed for the past three weeks, the kindness of Mrs. Annesley...

But then she set forth to ask questions in turn, wished to know all about Hertfordshire, and the room so much to Mr. Darcy's taste only minutes ago, became quite confining.

Hertfordshire, Hertfordshire! Can't one ever be free of it? I wish I had never set a foot in the d- place! And that wretched evening from whence all this emanates ... Which devil possessed me to set foot there at all?

"I gather from your letter, brother, that not all the society there was unworthy of your notice."

Bingley, who had been pacing up and down the room ever since Georgiana entered it, now stopped still.

"How interesting! Georgiana, I do believe you had been given an entirely different perspective of my neighbours than he condescended to share with me. Come, never mind him glaring, it's all for me, you know. Sit here, pray, and tell me all!"

Bingley leaned forward in expectation of the revelations only Miss Darcy could supply.

What letter? What? Was I writing in my sleep? ... Oh! I remember. This was the day I tried myself at complimenting her and that right after my vigorous competition with the billiard cue. At least there, I may be certain of victory; as far as woodenness went, the cue did not stand a chance. And bursting with information as the latest edition of some thing or other*, I went and presumably made myself a gossip to Georgie. Or worse!

Mr. Darcy's countenance became flushed, as he remembered a further detail.

That was my p ... petticoat phase. Good Lord.

Georgiana looked rather uneasy as a consequence of this exchange. The one and only letter she had received during William's stay in Hertfordshire - that hasty note of the previous day could not count as a rightful brotherly missive after all - was as affectionate as ever. William's letters were always about herself; there was his eager interest in the progress of her lessons, the news of music he would be contemplating of buying for her, regular lists of his latest acquisitions for the Pemberley library, and repeated questions as to anything else she might require.

She had learnt very early in life that one subject, however, would not be touched upon - that was her brother himself, his thoughts and feelings. His opinions he did not hesitate to offer, whenever she wished his advice on anything at all, but what he felt, remained undisclosed. Georgiana had never expected him to gossip; but to one who lived so secluded a life - by choice and circumstance - any information on people whom her brother met and kept company with, would have been most welcome.

All the more surprised was she, then, upon the receipt of the aforementioned letter, which offered precisely that. However, the epistle ended somewhat abruptly, and... Well, was it very extraordinary that Georgiana had presumed her brother would be as willing to talk about the lady in question as he was to write about her?

But now she saw it was clearly not so. She hardly knew which embarrassed her most - Mr. Bingley's apparent conjecture that her brother must have been withholding information ... lying, in fact - but William would never, never lie! - or William's clouded countenance.

She had done wrong. She should have been silent.

"Aha!"

Bingley was exultation itself; his usual cheerfulness had reached unsuspected heights when he made the decision to propose to Miss Bennet. Eager anticipation of his future bliss made him positively overflow with mirth, and he was more than ready to enjoy himself further by teasing his long-faced companion.

He saw Georgiana blush deeply and fix her eyes upon her lap. This was encouragement enough to proceed.

"Well, well, no need for you to blush, I am sure... Darcy, fine things you are up to, I see. Poor Caro! Poor I! This will cost me a fortune in milliner's bills."

"Bingley!"

Darcy did not raise his voice at all. The passion he had hidden, one he had acknowledged to himself only recently, something he could not restrain or remove, spoke through him. For a brief moment, he stood there, giving every impression of a man possessed.

A silence followed. Bingley, regardless of his teasing remarks, which implied otherwise, had no conception whatsoever of the extent of his friend's regard. He had always thought of Elizabeth Bennet as the lady most unlikely to engage Darcy's affections. With so little attempt at civility, and marked dislike on both sides, he even felt some anxiety on what terms would his future sister and Darcy be after his and Miss Bennet's marriage.

"Georgiana, I consider it best if you and Mrs. Annesley proceed to the house at once. You must be tired, and Mr. Bingley and I have matters to discuss. I shall see you in the morning."

Darcy regained his composure, and he escorted his sister towards the parlour, where Mrs. Annesley was waiting. The ladies of the house had apparently not been informed of Miss Darcy's arrival, so her companion sat there quite alone, waiting obligingly for her charge to reappear.

"Mrs. Annesley, good evening. I hear Georgiana showed a great deal of initiative in coming here. I fear the exertions of the day have quite overpowered her-"

At this moment, he caught sight of his sister's eyes. Georgiana was soon to be overpowered by tears as well, in addition to fatigue. It was too much for her brother to bear. Would the evening never end?

"-and I am sure you wish for rest yourself. So I suggest you take her home immediately. Thank you."

As he handed her into the carriage, he said in a subdued voice,

"Georgie ... If you will wait up for me- Then, perhaps, we could talk?"

The effect was immediate. Darcy knew that when he would finally cross the home threshold, Georgiana would be expecting him in the library, come what may.

Darcy's hand rested on the door handle.

This is it, then. Go and tell him, and be done with it.

He glanced again at the letter in his hand, and entered.

Bingley stood in front of the fire, ready to reprimand Darcy for his harsh behaviour towards Georgiana. He had but uttered,

"Darcy, why did you speak to her in that manner? She was not to blame, if I said anything amiss. Although for the life of me I cannot-", when he perceived the familiar epistle in Darcy's hand.

"I know. I shall apologise, do not worry. But I fear we have other matters to discuss."

Bingley was astonished by Darcy's choice of a word.

"You 'fear'? Then it hasn't been delivered yet? Upon my honour, it could not have been as bad as all that! I never blotted a thing out, not on this sheet! It took me hours, man. Indeed, I was only left with one sheet of paper- Which reminds me, now I must send for more if you wish me to correct anything."

Darcy forced himself to look his friend in the eye.

"There was absolutely nothing amiss about this letter, Bingley. It only does you honour, my friend. I thank you for the privilege of showing it to me. However-"

"What? Honestly, Darcy, I know I am not the world's finest correspondent, but you know, once I am with her, I trust I will present my case in a satisfactory manner."

"Bingley, I... I trust that as your friend, and one who has your best interest at heart, I must tell you -"

Darcy's voice quivered, but he nevertheless continued.

"-that it is my firm belief Miss Bennet does not return your affections to an extent you seem to anticipate. I have observed you both, and I confess I have no doubt as to your regard being ardent and honest. I have no such impression of Miss Bennet. She is, undoubtedly, a very polite and charming young lady, but, Charles, I beg you to reconsider. Her position in life is by all means such that I expect her answer to your proposal more likely to be affirmative than not and-"

Bingley had sat down and fixed his eyes on his friend intently, in a desperate attempt to fathom his full meaning.

"But Darcy..."

Mr. Darcy felt his hands tremble. He was reluctant to proceed. Yet proceed he must, truth had to be told, and he had to tell it.

"By marrying Miss Bennet, you would satisfy your fondest wishes but temporarily. Bingley, there is more to matrimony than the initial glory of acceptance. Two people joined in marriage become closest to each other, and need thus share respect and, yes - the feeling of deepest affection for their partner in life. I confess I have doubted your feelings at first - but your letter proved me wrong, and I apologise. However, I am so far convinced that Miss Bennet does not... She does not feel the same, my friend."

Bingley's head went down, and he remained silent. No heated protestations, no passionate arguments, nothing. Somehow, Darcy would have preferred any other reaction but this silent submission. He could not endure the situation any longer. At the back of his mind, Doubt was raising its voice.

Have I done what was right by Bingley or by myself?

Part 10 ~ Brothers and Sisters, Cousins and All

Posted on Thursday, 12 December 2002

In which Mr. Darcy develops an unforeseen interest in haberdashery, his cousin does the Sergeant Troy thing*, Georgiana blames herself, and a hazard to public health is exposed

It was well past midnight. On sending the carriage home, he instructed the coachman he would be very late indeed, and that none of the household but James needed postpone their night's rest. After that, he wandered through the streets, trusting that he would find himself at home eventually.

Two months ago, I would never have thought it possible ... Treating Georgie like that, when she is least to blame! But then, two months ago, so many things were different. Bingley and I seemed to be on a tour of English countryside, perpetually meeting with this agent or that, in search of a suitable house. None of us had the vaguest idea we would both...

Before him, he saw the lights of Park Lane. Some neighbours of his seemed to be returning from an evening at the theatre. A carriage rattled down the street, and shook Darcy out of his reverie. The icy November wind, cutting through the oppressing mist, and bringing the first announcement of winter, protruded through his greatcoat.

This was an entirely unprecedented occurrence in Georgiana's life. On countless occasions before, it had been she who regretted some mischief or another, until that horrible occurrence at Ramsgate when she truly believed his trust in her to be lost for good. And no wonder, for she had indeed been blind to every demand of common sense and decency.

But William was all tenderness. He never as much as scolded her. His words she would never forget, and indeed, they had been on her mind ever since the carriage door closed upon her in Grosvenor Street.

'You did wrong, Georgiana, and you know it. I shall not lecture you on the impropriety of your behaviour. Your coming to me and disclosing this ... matter shows that you are well aware of it. You have learnt something from this, I believe. Anybody who knows you, must love you as I do. Yet there are people ... men, who are not interested in yourself, lovely and good-natured you are, but solely in what financial benefit you may bring them. They would stop at nothing to ensure it. I will do everything in my power to protect you, but it is not only me who has to be on their guard. There, I shall not speak of it again.'

On that occasion, Georgiana anticipated harsh words, and her tears were ones of shame. The tears which had almost been shed a few hours before, would have been an outward expression of bafflement and utter powerlessness she had felt in face of her brother's incomprehensible treatment of her. She did not question her brother's judgment, yet she could not see where her fault lay. This had not happened before. Surely there must be something she overlooked. Perhaps he did not like her unexpected appearance at Mr. Bingley's house at such a late hour? Yet he seemed very pleased to see her, and said so. Did she upset Mr. Bingley?

Georgiana blushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Mr. Bingley was not upset at all, quite the contrary. He appeared to be in very high spirits, but the things he said of William... How could he? She could not make out the meaning of his remarks at all. And she brought them about! Yes, indeed, it was her inquiry after the Hertfordshire society that had done it. But why?

She was sitting in a chair close to the fire, wrapped up in a woollen shawl and looking at the flames closely. When she heard him enter, she stood up and smiled.

"There, William. I have not fallen asleep, you see."

She moved forward to greet him, about to reach out her arms, but checked herself. She could not behave as if nothing had happened, nor did he wish her to either, of that she was certain. 'If anything is the matter, it is best to discuss it. Any problems - real or imagined - tend thus to disappear,' he always said.

Georgiana stood still and waited for her brother to live up to his teachings.

It was extraordinary, how the movement of those tiny shoulders could influence him. Smallest vexation or grief, and they would lower themselves visibly. A quiet, obedient child, much affected by the fact she was motherless, Georgiana was in fact quite similar in disposition to her elder brother. Whatever she felt, she kept to herself, but those who knew her well needed but to glance at her shoulders for the state of her spirits to be revealed to them.

Darcy still standing by the door, looking for the proper words to voice his regret.

"Georgiana," - further down went the shoulders - "I am sorry. For my own selfish reasons, without any proper grounds for it in your behaviour, I cut you short, and made you feel you had done something amiss. It was wrong of me and I apologise."

Come, Georgie, do not shrink from me. I am sorry!

As if able to hear his thoughts, his sister came closer that instant. She did not run into his arms as she had done, much to his surprise, some hours before, but she drew nearer and nearer, until her head rested on his shoulder.

He heard an unmistakable sound - a sigh of relief, followed by, "I am sorry, too. I did not mean to pry. I wish Mr. Bingley had not ... His comments seemed to give you pain."

Is this another question, I wonder? Whatever it is, it should not go past unanswered.

"I should never think you wished to pry, that would be quite unlike you. Your interest was perfectly polite and well meant. I hope you will find me more forthcoming now. Pray, ask away."

Georgiana had been perfectly still in his arms. Now she freed herself, leaned back a little and said quietly,

"What is on your mind, William?"

Georgiana turned on her heels and took her former place by the fire. She tapped the seat of the chair next to her.

"I do not pretend to be a great student of character-"

Oh but I have had my character studied lately and had it declared 'exceedingly puzzling' to my face, and Lord only knows what in private!

But the object of the study obeyed nevertheless, and took the seat assigned to him. He may have done so without exhibiting any particular enthusiasm to find himself questioned, but sit down he did, and with a small smile on his face, too.

This smile was reflected at once in his sister's countenance. Most certainly there was a change in William. Whatever brought it on, seemed to be the cause of considerable distress to him. Georgiana was determined she would endeavour to help.

"- yet I cannot help but notice you are concerned about something. I wish to help you, if I can. I do not claim to be able to advise you, but I can and will listen and tell you my opinion."

Georgie, how in the world could you help me? By cornering Elizabeth and enumerating my good qualities until dawn?

Darcy's smile broadened. Ridiculous as it was, the thought of Georgiana as his solicitor in court where Miss Elizabeth Bennet presented the judge and the jury, amused him.

He took his sister's hand in his. "That is most kind of you."

"I mean it, William. I realise you consider me but a child. This may be so; I have proven my thoughtlessness by... - But I have changed, I do know-"

Her voice broke and she fell silent. Darcy took her by the other hand, too.

"Georgiana, we shall not dwell on that. There now, look at me. I need to explain something."

The atmosphere of the room again became more relaxed. Georgiana was all eagerness. To listen to, to counsel, if necessary, her older brother, if he wished! It made her forget entirely the lateness of the hour.

"Your unexpected visit to Grosvenor Street had come at a most ... awkward moment. I was just about to enter upon a subject which was - unpleasant, to say the least. It concerns Mr. Bingley's private affairs. Suffice it to say, it was a piece of most" - Darcy was searching for a neutral word - "unwelcome news, which I felt bound to communicate. During your brief visit, he remained under the misapprehension that my communication would be most favourable. This worried me exceedingly, and I... I am afraid you witnessed the consequences of this yourself. Again, I am sorry."

And, ummm, yes, I quite forgot, dash it - I have identified my partner for life, and she hates the sight of me and prefers none other than our old acquaintance Mr. Wickham. Shocking, is it not?

He released Georgiana's hands and stood up.

This is no time to think of it. No more of this, I tell you.

His complete inability to prevent his thoughts to be completely taken over by Elizabeth the moment he let his attention lessen, frustrated Darcy. He grabbed the back of the chair before him. It was an unconscious movement, a desperate effort to settle his thoughts on the conversation with his sister rather than on the ramblings of his tortured mind.

She is safe, she must be. Colonel Forster will take good care that Wickham does not harm her - or anybody else.

The grip on the chair hardened considerably.

"I understand, William. I do hope Mr. Bingley was not too distressed. But -"

Georgiana moved in her chair. He did say he would answer her questions.

"Is that all? I mean - was that all you were concerned about?"

Not a student of character, she says.

He moved closer to the fire and turned his back on Georgiana.

For an instant, Darcy felt what a relief it would be to speak of it, to share his burden, to tell how... But what should he say? He had no right to trouble the mind of his sister with what would be looked upon by society - and in my saner moments, by myself, he thought - as a foolish passion.

Fine example I make. Lord only knows what I had said in that letter! I wouldn't be surprised to see I had doodled hearts pierced with arrows all over it.

During these moments of silence, as she waited for her brother to produce an answer, Georgiana Darcy was thinking back of the events of some hours earlier. She could not make head or tail of some remarks uttered by Mr. Bingley. In her distress and confusion, she did not fully comprehend his meaning - but, did he not say...

"Georgiana, indeed, you are perfectly right."

Georgiana sighed as she laid her head on the pillow.

'I cannot say more of the matter at present, it is too- painful. I can only ask you to bear with me.'

She would understand it when she was older. That was a short summary of his rather unsatisfactory and stammering speech.

She had patience and forbearance aplenty. But she could do so much more than be patient and forbearing! Who or what had caused him pain? If only she could remember what was it that Mr. Bingley said... It would perhaps be in her power to do more than merely exercise her fortitude.

The scenes of the evening past exchanged rapidly before Georgiana's eyes, until the excitement of the day took its toll on her gentle frame and she slipped into a sound sleep of a fifteen-year-old.

Darcy did not exactly relish his solitude at the breakfast table the following morning. He almost called for his coat, with a good mind to set off for Grosvenor Street, until he remembered that Bingley would probably not be inclined to see him just then. In view of their recent conversation, it would be a tactless intrusion, so Darcy had resolved to stay at home when Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was announced.

Darcy hardly had the time to stand up and divest himself of his napkin when a man of about thirty swiftly entered the breakfast parlour.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the younger son of Darcy's uncle, was a dear friend. Yet truth be told, there were several instances when one of the cousins - or both - wondered privately whether they would have sought each other's company hadn't they been related.

Observing an unusually broad grin on Colonel's face, Darcy began to ponder the possibility of that morning's visit proving to be one of those occasions.

"Darcy, good to see you! How are you? My, you look rather spent! Was the country to your taste then?"

"Good morning, Fitzwilliam."

Never mind the country. Better steer clear of the subject all together. A vastly overrated topic of conversation, the country is. We have so many cities in England, after all.

"I quite enjoyed the rides. And walks."

One in particular, yes. Well, it wasn't all that much of a walk than a run, but dashing after Miss Elizabeth Bennet beats any walking, be it in Town or in the country.

Having come to that relevant conclusion, Darcy noticed he was losing the thread of the conversation. He frowned, and caught it just in time.

Country... Country... Ah, yes.

"Shooting I do not care for much, as you know. And you? You shed the shimmer and shine of your regimentals, I see."

"Yes, well... I thought I would better spare you the havoc so early in the morning, you know."

The colonel bent his lips into a self-mocking smile on seeing Darcy's slightly puzzled look.

"Your house is indeed spacious, but I doubt very much it would go down in history successful as a fortress, standing up against hordes of young ladies which tend to follow me around when I am... more formally attired, shall we say?"

At this point, Darcy readily gave in to temptation to roll his eyes by way of a reply.

The only man among Darcy's acquaintance close to matching him in height, Richard Fitzwilliam was one on whom many a lady's eye rested for longer than courtesy required, and more often than not the look was accompanied by an ample blush, for Colonel did not hesitate to cast a perceptive gaze of his blue eyes on the offender in return.

Fitzwilliam also possessed something his cousin seemingly lacked - an open manner with which he approached his superiors, equals and inferiors alike. The only distinction in his communication with the above was the degree of ridicule he subjected them to. However, none found themselves a target as often as the Colonel himself. He possessed the admirable ability of not quite taking himself seriously.

His position in society was excellent in as much he was a member of an ancient, noble family. As such - and a man whose figure appeared to no small advantage in a redcoat of His Majesty's Army - he would be deemed as desirable a match as his cousin Darcy, had it not been for the misfortune of being born the younger son of an Earl. This fact was found to be a remarkably powerful cure for the redcoat fever, a somewhat acute ailment of the period, quite an epidemic of which affected the segment of female population capable of discerning the relevant portion of the spectrum.

Not ranking particularly high on the sought-after bachelors' list had never been the smallest cause of regret or agitation. Colonel Fitzwilliam had so far not met with a lady whose admiration of his person would be based on something more substantial or lasting than a strong preference for red colour over duller ones. He was inclined to think this was none other's but the ladies' loss, and found the symptoms - as any other display of human folly - very amusing.

"As long as you are able to answer for your own safety, Fitzwilliam..."

Darcy lifted his arms in mock surrender.

"Even better, cousin. Not only shall I ensure my safety, I shall defend your virtue as well. En garde!"

There was a mischievous twinkle in the Colonel's eye as he assumed the position, his imaginary sword pointing in Darcy's direction.

One of us must be a foundling. There can be no other explanation.

"I shall sleep in peace then," Darcy retorted, "and it shall be an everlasting repose, judging by the turn of your sword. You seem determined to put an end to my suffering here and now."

Colonel chuckled as he sheathed his imaginary weapon.

"Suffering I am not quite certain about. However, I am quite resolved to put an end to this secrecy, for I can bear the suspense no longer. Let us have the exact number of the potential mistresses of Pemberley amongst the Hertfordshire ladies, Darcy."

Upon hearing this inquiry, Mr. Darcy seemed to discover a somewhat loose button on his waistcoat, which was perhaps due to intense observation of the latter. Also, the neckcloth appeared to be stiffly arranged to a degree. Whilst he was making a mental note to notify Forsythe of these shocking omissions, Mr. Darcy felt the colour of his cheek rising.

Blast, not again!

This unsettling inability of controlling his feelings had become too common an occurrence. It made him angry, and thus he blushed even more.

Colonel Fitzwilliam observed all these symptoms and briefly considered the possibility of having hit a bull's eye with his last remark before he dismissed it as impossible.

This was Darcy, after all.

Darcy had insofar shown as feeble an interest in matrimony as his cousin. He went a step further, however, by treating the members of the opposite sex with perfect indifference at best, and at worst with a bemused mixture of scorn and contempt, which caused many an attempt of engaging his affections fail magnificently. The defeat was not to be attributed to any lack of perseverance on the ladies' part, for some had developed it quite into an art form, Miss Caroline Bingley in particular.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had often mused how interesting it would be to see Darcy in love. Not half as interesting as to see the woman who would inspire such affection, though.

As for Darcy, he wished very much that she would stop haunting his every waking moment. His dreams he had long proclaimed, with a hint of something akin to satisfaction, out of his province. It was almost as if he had no will to call his own any longer.

Never again would he think himself a complete human being, separate from her, and never again would he feel more alone as he did then, when there was no hope of finding himself near her.

"I gather it was very bad then. Between ten and twenty in the least. Pray, cousin, make sure you send word next time, before you flee to Town. I pledge to relieve you of a good number of them. Will polish my boots 'specially for the occasion. Derbyshire, Hertfordshire, Sussex or Kent, Fitzwilliam to the rescue!"

His speech dissolved into a hearty laughter.

However, Darcy's clouded countenance and absent-minded look suggested that a change of subject would indeed be most welcome. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a man of good sense and for all his enjoyment of the ridiculous, he knew when to leave off; besides, Darcy was not going to give him the satisfaction of blushing again. He was apparently in a reverie of sorts.

Thus the Colonel did temporarily close the subject, only to exclaim the next moment,

"Well, madam! Is this how you welcome your devoted relation who had spent the entire night travelling only to pay his respects to you?"

Having hurried her toilette to the degree which Mrs. Annesley disapprovingly declared 'almost unladylike', just to be able to see her cousin as soon as may be, Georgiana hurried again, this time to apologise to one who had claimed himself neglected.

Halfway, she was interrupted by a grave salute, which made it quite impossible for her not to laugh. The cousins shook hands and proceeded to an exchange of latest news.

And so the lowest of all whispers was never heard,

"One. Only one."

*Sergeant Troy from Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd; he charms Bathsheba Everdene with a sword-exercise on a clearing in the woods. Yet another victim of the redcoat fever, I am afraid.

Part 11a ~ A Family Christmas

Posted on Saturday, 21 December 2002

The weeks following the Darcys' arrival to town were full of engagements. Between all the calls, visits to the theatre and the opera, and countless hours spent with either his solicitor or his steward, Mr. Darcy was certain to find himself much occupied.

However, Miss Elizabeth Bennet developed a disobliging habit of seizing his attention the moment it was not wholly engaged by anything or anyone else. All resistance seemed to be futile. A man can strive to occupy his every waking moment, to be sure, yet there will always be obstacles to be faced. A horse will invariably need shoeing just as one was determined on a ride. The carriage will be required by one's sister, whom one would not deny it for the world. The classics, once possessing such a soothing effect on one's mind and soul, will be discovered to present a strain on one's eyes, for the library candles shall be either too great or too small in number.

Indeed, the fates were not kind to Mr. Darcy. He thus settled on a drastically different approach altogether. The simplest manner in which this remarkable technique is to be described is as follows - Mr. Darcy gave in.

The countenances of both Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy betrayed feelings of agitation that morning.

On her side, they were the feelings of barely controlled panic. A hostess to such a large party! Her stomach in a knot, she could scarcely look at the desolate piece of toast on the plate before her.

Her brother, however, had eaten four slices already, and was bent on destroying the fifth, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth throughout.

It was Mrs. Annesley who tried to introduce polite conversation into the silence of the breakfast parlour. Her attempts were met by nervous smiles on her left, and by monosyllables on her right. Eventually she, too, fell silent.

"Mr. Darcy, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Mrs. Annesley approached him in the hall as he was on his way to shut himself in the library yet again. This seemed to be the primary employment of Mr. Darcy's in the mornings. Nobody really knew what kept him there. It could not be business, for anybody who came to the house for that express purpose, stayed for a quarter of an hour, and then appeared again, more often than not with a perplexed expression on his face. The steward had been given a carte blanche, and Mrs. Fryers, the housekeeper, was instructed to seek an audience with Miss Darcy in any case of a domestic crisis.

This was all very well, for Miss Georgiana would be a mistress of a house once yet there was no need for her to be thrown in at the deep end!

Such was Mrs. Annesley opinion, and she was determined to speak it.

"Mr. Darcy, if I may be so bold... A young lady needs some time to become accustomed to the duties of the mistress of a house. I believe Miss Darcy has taken her task very seriously, as she would any task you would lay before her, sir. However, I cannot help but notice that perhaps it is all a bit too much for her. Not the preparations themselves, that has been all seen too most faithfully. I am referring to the strain, the burden of responsibility. And with today's announcement of-"

Mrs. Annesley looked at Mr. Darcy in anticipation.

My Aunt's superb sense of timing. One of her most endearing qualities.

The gentleman appeared to be, at last, getting a grasp on the meaning of her words. It was not in Mrs. Annesley's nature to speak so directly, and she would not have done so had she thought there was any other course of action available. Indeed, it was highly astonishing that one should remind Mr. Darcy of his obligations. Yet, Mr. Darcy had not been himself of late.

The good lady is perfectly right, of course. I have put my irrational delusions before everything else, and completely disregarded Georgiana's distress.

It was a disturbing revelation, and it struck an unpleasant chord. It reminded him of his behaviour towards Bingley. Darcy had been struggling with a strong feeling he had somehow failed his friend by his intervention. Their friendship was as strong as it had ever been, yet with Darcy absent-minded for most of the time, and Bingley uncharacteristically uncommunicative, the two gentlemen went on spending much time together, during which they hardly spoke, each engrossed in his own thoughts.

What was I thinking? Thinking? Hardly. I have not been possessed of a rational thought in weeks.

"Thank you, madam. I regret having put you in such a position, and I assure you I shall do what is right. Immediately."

With that, he was out of the room.

After a thorough search of the house, Mr. Darcy was about to turn to Mrs. Fryers to help him discover the whereabouts of his sister when he heard a muffled cry from the dining room.

He peered inside, and saw his sister wrestling with a giant stack of mistletoe sprigs, which were quite hopelessly intertwined. This sight somehow lifted an enormous weight off his heart.

Darcy tiptoed across the room, and as he progressed towards his sister, he observed there were some small sprigs lying abandoned on the floor of the dining room in the manner of fatal casualties on the battlefield. With his eyes on Georgiana's back, he bent over to pick one in his hand, proceeded noiselessly - there was only the rustling of noncompliant greenery and Georgiana's sighs to be heard - and when he was only a step away, whispered as he raised the sprig over her head,

"Well?"

The mistletoe fell onto the floor the next moment and Georgiana let out a shriek.

"What, wh-? Oh, dear me, William!"

"Shhh, Georgie, do not upset yourself! I am sorry if I startled you. No, I am not, to tell you the truth. It was too good an opportunity to miss, really. Come now, shall you leave me waiting much longer? My arm is getting sore, you know."

"I do not think you deserve a kiss."

Georgiana furrowed her brow as she observed the tactically positioned mistletoe.

"Not presently, I agree, yet I shall endeavour to be more deserving in the future. I promise to begin directly. Well now!"

His wish was granted, and the sprig quickly found its way back to the polished floor of the dining room.

"Where are you taking me? The party is tomorrow, this must be done today."

Georgiana protested feebly as her brother took her by the hand and steered her towards the breakfast room.

"And so it shall, do not worry. But first, something more important. Ah, Mrs. Fryers. We decided to have some more breakfast, could that be arranged? Thank you."

The astounded housekeeper made haste and another morning meal was spread on the table before them.

"My dear sister and the extremely capable mistress of my house, I do believe you have not eaten properly in days. We shall rectify this."

Georgiana looked at him in astonishment. She had no idea he had noticed, being seemingly oblivious to all that transpired around him. Before she could utter as much as a word, though, two buttered pieces of toast found themselves on the plate before her, and her teacup was filled to the brim. This was clearly no time for objections, and, to be truthful, she was feeling some pangs of hunger...

Mr. Darcy smiled as he observed his sister help herself to toast, and leaned forward to butter another piece for her.

For the rest of the morning, the Darcys' town house resounded with laughter and mirth, the source of which was to be found in its dining room. The latter was decorated by Mr. and Miss Darcy themselves. Mrs. Fryers was so bold as to offer help, but was politely refused. Mrs. Annesley came downstairs, intrigued by the noise, and was seen retreating to her chambers minutes later, with a smile on her lips.

At last, the much-dreaded day arrived. The maid had just finished placing blue silk flowers into Miss Darcy's hair when there was a light knock on the door. The maid opened it, and the master of the house swiftly entered in full evening attire.

Georgiana turned around and said, "Well, William?"

"Well, I shall burst of pride, that is one thing that comes to mind. No, no blushing, I beg you, it only makes you prettier. Fortunately, we are only a family party, or I would be inclined to lock you in the room for fear of-"

No entreaties would have helped then. Against the light blue silk of her gown, her face and neck appeared not pink, but crimson.

"What I wished to say is, no matter what happens - not that I believe anything unpleasant shall happen - I am extremely grateful and proud of you for having single-handedly prepared everything for this evening's party, with no help from your unthinking brother. No, I do not believe that last-minute assistance with decorating counts as much. Well done, Georgie, and again, my apologies."

Fitzwilliam Darcy bowed to his sister, and offered her his hand. The hostess and host then proceeded to the drawing room to await their guests.

Georgiana stood as far away as possible from the blazing fire. She could not perceive neither cold nor warmth at that moment, her senses were quite benumbed by the feeling of fearful expectation. There were voices in the hall, a great number of them, it seemed, and Georgiana felt a slight touch of her brother's hand on her shoulder, and heard him murmur,

"All will be well."

The door opened, and the servant announced the first to arrive.

"Sir William Lucas, Miss Charlotte Lucas and Mr. William Collins."

The scene, which presented itself next, was as follows - an elderly gentleman, somewhat bulky in figure, appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a young lady. On catching sight of his hosts, he suddenly came to a halt, thereby tugging mercilessly at the lady's arm. She had hitherto carried herself with an air of serene composure, which was replaced momentarily by an expression of perplexed confusion.

A most inconvenient commotion ensued, as the abrupt stopping on the part of Sir William seriously interfered with the inspired strut of the gentleman who was following them. Also... The doorway of the drawing room was perfectly capable of admitting two people at once. A party of three, however, presented a difficulty.

Briefly, it did indeed appear that Mr. Collins would attempt to overcome the obstacle before him in the shape of his fiancée and her father, somehow - proceeding either above, over, or, circumstances requiring, through them. For it was they and they only that stood between him and Mr. Darcy!

Had this gentleman been able to bring himself to meet Mr. Collins' eye then, he would discern in it the momentum of determination to pay respects to the nephew of Mr. Collins' most eminent patroness, the man who had shown a humble servant of the Church of England, such affability and condescension as to extend to him an invitation to a family dinner at his Town house!

Fortunately, Miss Lucas possessed the presence of mind to prevent, by propelling her father gently forwards, her future husband from taking any drastic measures in order to gain access to Mr. Darcy and bestow upon him the honour due to his person.

Oh for pity's sake! Can't we bring this display to some sort of an end?

In the spirit of this thought, Mr. Darcy went forth with the introductions. Sir William, being as much in awe of his host as of the situation he found himself in, bowed and did not raise his eyes above the hem of Miss Darcy's gown. His daughter perceived that the hostess was hardly less ill at ease herself. Therefore she expressed her delight in the acquaintance in a subdued tone, but with a reassuring smile. The beneficial effect of the latter came to naught as Miss Darcy was immediately afterwards subjected to Mr. Collins' raptures.

The gentleman from Kent was 'honoured beyond words', yet words miraculously appeared on his lips in abundance. No one present interrupted his monologue. Sir William was only too happy he needed not contribute to the conversation, Miss Lucas knew it would be of little avail, Georgiana was dumbfounded in the face of such loquacity, and Mr. Darcy did his best to appear indifferent. He was quite successful, until...

Until Mr. Collins introduced the subject of the Netherfield Ball.

The thought of her hovered at the back of his mind almost constantly. Darcy had begun to lead a double life to an extent; it was as if he were consulting her on all matters pertaining to his life. It had become the most normal thing in the world, to ask himself, 'What would she think - say - how would she look - if she were present?' He did not have the strength to fight it any longer, nor did he feel any wish to do so. After all, it was highly unlikely that his and Miss Bennet's paths would cross again, and why should he not be entitled to hold her still in high regard?

But to hear her name mentioned by others, in his presence, that was quite another matter.

"Such superiour dancing is rarely to be seen! An exceptional treat, and a great honour to the assembled company. No small privilege to my cousin Elizabeth, sir, and to the family whose most proud member I find myself to be. It is most gratifying, to see one's relation distinguished, and in such fine an assemblage, Mr. Darcy, I thank you."

The gentleman bowed enthusiastically, almost toppling over in the process.

What would he do if he knew she refused to dance with me once, and teased me mercilessly the one time she did accept? We are centuries away from sacrificing people to the gods, yet I think Mr. William Collins would be willing to restore that ancient custom especially for the occasion.

Mr. Darcy shuddered as he remembered accidentally overheard hints of Mrs. Bennet regarding her second daughter and Mr. Collins.

It is all forgotten, it seems, and he is to wed another. Poor Miss Lucas! Did he ever propose? I wonder.

There was an ample comfort in the fact that it was Miss Lucas whom he was to pity, and not her best friend. The relief was but temporary, for he was reminded that the pompous clergyman might have given up his suit in face of a favoured opponent. Mr. Darcy's brow darkened as he thought of the possibility.

It would be strange if I were not to enquire about her... her family, I mean. There was a degree of acquaintance that-

It was not an easy task that Mr. Darcy found himself before. He was not certain of Miss Lucas' response, then Georgiana would perhaps...

But above any other reaction, Mr. Darcy feared his own.

Fortunately for him then, that the rest of the party arrived just as Miss Darcy and Miss Lucas established that the Christmas two years before had in fact brought some snow - a conclusion corroborated by the vigorous nodding of Sir William.

The fifteen minutes, which appeared much closer to fifty, were at last over.

There were some further introductions to be made, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had been out of Town, attending to some business in the north, and had not had the pleasure of meeting the Hertfordshire party before. He had extracted some information concerning them from his parents, who had been instructed by Lady Catherine to

'...pay them some civility, but not too much. I should like a report on Miss Lucas, what kind of a young woman is she, pray? It is a most hurried business, quite unheard of- But so it is with the lower classes...'.

Colonel Fitzwilliam saw his Aunt's letter, and was moderately amused by it, his amusement to no small extent originating in his curiosity how precisely was his cousin Darcy to handle the fact he was, on his Aunt's orders, to entertain not only an insignificant clergyman from Kent, but also his Hertfordshire bride and the bride's father.

Miss Bingley's enthusiasm for a Christmas at Darcy's house in Town was undiminished. Her sister turned up her nose at the news they were to share dinner with that Kentish nonentity, and the Lucases, of all people, but Miss Bingley was ready to sit down to dinner with Beelzebub himself, provided Mr. Darcy would be of the party.

Their brother, however, harboured quite a different feeling towards the unexpected guests. Mr. Collins being her cousin, and Sir William and Miss Lucas her neighbours, he was in the best possible position to find out some news of Miss Bennet. Hearing about her, he thought, was the very next best thing to actually meeting her! His woe quite forgotten, he behaved as any other lover would - changed his coat four times - as if his beloved was to be present that evening - undid his neckcloth as a result of trembling hands and lack of proper occupation, and sent for the carriage an hour too early. (The carriage was then used to fetch an arrangement of exotic flowers, which he had sent to the Darcys', including no card whatsoever, and thereby frightening Darcy into believing some unworthy young rascal or other was paying his addresses to his sister in that presumptuous manner.)

The last of the guests from Grosvenor Street was only slightly less expectant of the evening as the former, for Darcy's cook had never let Mr. Hurst down yet, nor did the butler or the contents of the decanter.

The arrival of such excellent company, the Lord and Lady Matlock, their younger son, the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam, and his old acquaintances, the Bingleys and the Hursts, took some wind out of Mr. Collins' wings, though by no means all. He temporarily limited himself to putting a great strain on the muscles of his lower back and neck, by bowing most conscientiously in every direction, whilst in his mind arranging little compliments most suitable to the occasion.

Much to his disappointment, dinner was served minutes after the remainder of the party's entrance. However, being struck at the sight of his lady's arm being taken by Colonel Fitzwilliam - such an honour, indeed! - Mr. Collins felt sufficiently emboldened to offer his own to Miss Bingley. No other gentleman was at liberty to save her, and so they proceeded to the dining room: Lord Matlock and Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Lucas, Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley, and Mr. Hurst.

Part 11b ~ A Family Christmas

Posted on Tuesday, 24 December 2002

"I do not presume to be an expert in these matters, my dear, but you look uncommonly lovely tonight."

Lord Matlock saw at once that his niece was to have a rough evening of it, placed at the head of the table as the hostess, and that her closest neighbours, Mr. Hurst on one side, and Mr. Collins, positioned right to himself, would not make her task a considerably easier one. Therefore he set forth to smooth her way amidst such unfortunate sitting arrangements.

His lordship needed not have been concerned on Miss Darcy's account, for he soon found out that none other than himself was to be the primary addressee of most of Mr. Collins' remarks. It was indeed a marvellous opportunity for Mr. Collins to exhibit his conversational skills in the presence of a peer of the realm.

Indeed, Mr. Darcy was quite forgotten - perchance for the fact that he was almost as far from Mr. Collins as the table would allow, with Miss Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Lucas seated between them. Or perhaps, Mr. Collins was only acting in accordance with his own rules of precedence - in the presence of the nephew of his patroness and her brother, Mr. Collins knew whom to concentrate his attention on.

Meanwhile, the future Mrs. Collins was little aware that conversing with her was to be the principal object of at least two gentlemen besides her intended husband that evening.

Why did I not take my chance and ask her before? How am I ever to enter on the subject now, with Bingley and Fitzwilliam pricking their ears the moment I open my mouth?

Mr. Darcy's determination to remain a model of composure, a rock in the rough sea of hospitality for his sister to lean on, and one giving an impression of having at least a shred of good sense left, throughout the evening, was put to a severe trial. He thought of little else but of how to inquire into the well-being of the Bennet family and one of its members in particular.

"I gather your errand in London has been completed most successfully, Miss Lucas."

"Why yes, although I do not know, Colonel..."

"My mother, you see, takes care that I do not roam the world completely ignorant, and she informed me that you are soon to be married. My heartfelt congratulations."

Colonel's intention was to dispose of meaningless pleasantries as soon as the proper occasion arose, especially as he felt that in this particular case, judging by the behaviour of the prospective husband, sympathy was what was really called for.

He went on,

"You must have come to London to purchase a wedding gown though you need not think my mother such a gossip as to inform me of that. It was my own brainwave, I am proud to say. For what else should induce you to a visit of the capital in such weather? Company? We are such dull people, after all. I am sure there is much better company to be found in Hertfordshire, eh, Darcy?"

"Excuse me?"

Here's your cue. Well, what are you waiting for? Say it, 'Speaking of the Hertfordshire company...' No, too transparent. 'Are all the Hertfordshire acquaintance-' Even worse.

The tactics by which he would appear thoroughly nonchalant in his intended inquiry would have doubtlessly proved a success if there had not been yet another gentleman hanging on every word Miss Lucas had to say.

"I cannot think of happier days than those three weeks that we spent there, you know. Pray, how is everyone of our Hertfordshire acquaintance, Miss Lucas?"

Bingley... Lean forward a bit more, and we shall have to fish you out of the soup plate!

Bingley, entirely unconscious of the grave danger lurking in the depths of the soup plate, went on,

"Is everybody well? No illness, no death, no... marriage?"

He cast a sheepish sideways glance at the head of the table at the last word, mouth open, his face bearing an expression of tense expectation.

"Really, Charles, as if it matters!"

Miss Bingley was bored, and increasingly so. Her indignation at being taken in to dinner by the ridiculous parson from Kent was immense, yet she was certain all would be well once they were seated at the dinner table. That was, naturally, before she grasped that as far being close to Mr. Darcy during that particular meal was concerned, she might have sailed to the West Indies.

And as if that were not enough, her brother was making a spectacle of himself by inquiring about the country yokels they had finally managed to leave behind - all thanks to Mr. Darcy's initiative!

"I am certain it matters to the ones immediately concerned, Miss Bingley. I know I would be immensely interested should I happen to find myself at death's door, and perhaps even more, were I to march down the altar."

The Colonel was quite delighted by Miss Bingley's contribution to the conversation.

"Everybody is quite well, Mr. Bingley, thank you."

Mr. Bingley moved restlessly in his chair.

"Yes?"

What, Bingley? Ants got up your leg, or something?

"Did you make a large circle of acquaintance in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley?" inquired Lady Matlock.

She had foreseen her younger son's desire to utter what would invariably turn out to be a frivolous remark of some sort - dear Richard was so predictable in his unpredictability! And the Bingley girl was asking for it! - and she hastened to pursue a more good-humoured, albeit rather uninteresting, line of discussion.

No subject was as dear to Mr. Bingley, and he took it up with glee. Indeed, they had become acquainted with a great deal of charming people in Hertfordshire -

People, plural? Not lady, noun, singular, description, 'creature, most charming, beheld, have ever, I'*? Really, such generalisations will not do!

- ladies, indeed, in particular.

Ah, now you're talking, Bingley, my man! You'll see me through this yet.

Mr. Darcy silenced the thought already forming in his head, and resorted to carefully arranging the cutlery before him.

"To be sure, wearing a smock is necessary at all times. One can never be too careful, particularly when the orchard is in bloom - such fine, wholesome fruit, nothing quite like Hunsford apples! Why, I but seldom venture outside without it at that time. My smock, that is. Yes... Quite."

At least Mr. Collins was having an enjoyable evening.

A knight in a shining smock for you, Miss Lucas.

Mr. Darcy paid even more attention to the family silver. It struck him that he had not come an inch closer to reaching his objective, whilst concentrating on completely immaterial aspects of the conversation.

Come on, Bingley. Get on with it!

Suddenly, Georgiana's quiet, clear voice cut through an unexpected moment of silence,

"Yes, my brother mentioned some in my letter. A family by the name of... I cannot recollect it at present, I am sorry."

Her position at the far end of the table rendered her evening rather uneventful compared to the reception of the guests prior to dinner. She did manage to exchange a couple of words with her uncle Matlock before Mr. Collins embarked on an endless list of topics which might, in his opinion, hold his lordship's interest. She would undoubtedly, given a chance, answer Mr. Hurst's compliment to the cook - 'D- tasteful, this!', but Mr. Hurst was too absorbed in destroying the much admired meal to give her the opportunity by at least turning his head in her general direction.

Thus, the hostess had plenty of time to listen to the conversation higher up the table, and entered into it without any real intention or desire to do so.

"Bennet!"

Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy pronounced the name at the very same moment. The difference of their manner, the tone of voice, was striking.

Bingley actually half-rose from his chair, his face aglow, arms stretched out as if he were about to embrace the fairest member of the aforementioned family that instant. His voice was warm in tone, and raised to the heights Darcys' dining room was far from being accustomed to. His friend's brow was furrowed, face distressingly pallid and voice hoarse, defying his attempts to subdue it to a whisper.

The statement was accompanied by the clatter of the silver. Mr. Darcy's hand, apparently, lost hold of his knife and fork.

"Well, well..."

Colonel Fitzwilliam made a mental note to remember the name for future reference. Such a response from Darcy was far from common. Nothing but the Wickham affair had given rise to so much feeling in his cousin before; at least the Colonel had not witnessed it. Therefore, he leaned back in his chair, fully determined to savour the moment. In doing so, his glance chanced to rest on his mother's countenance.

Colonel Fitzwilliam knew an order when he saw one, and Lady Matlock's raised left eyebrow spoke as plainly as her ladyship would have, had she been at liberty to do so - 'Richard, stop this nonsense at once!' Like a dutiful son, he held his tongue and took firm hold of his wine glass lest a comment should nevertheless escape him.

Miss Lucas's eyes were flying between her host and his best friend. It was very clear to her that perhaps herself and her intended were the closest to entering the matrimonial state, however, they were far from being alone in this. Mr. Bingley was ready, willing and able to 'have and to hold' Miss Bennet that very moment, and Mr. Darcy ... Most interesting.

Miss Bingley was in state of complete dumbfoundedness. Her hands froze in motion, fork and knife clutched so hard that her knuckles were becoming quite devoid of colour. Bennet? Bennet? Was there no escaping that wretched name?

Across the table, Mrs. Hurst was glancing at her brother with horror in her eye - could it be that Charles had bats in his belfry, like great uncle Theobald? Surely he was not still thinking of that girl?

Mr. Hurst decided to use the apparent pause in conversation to bring the emptiness of his glass to the footman's attention. James promptly obliged him, and Mr. Hurst proceeded to enjoy himself.

Lord Matlock was quite surprised at the display of such - well, feeling, dash it, it had to be! - but as a thoroughly well-bred man he decided to keep silent - which was far from presenting any trouble, for he had no relevant comment to offer, having never heard the name of Bennet before in the entire course of his life. As his son before him, he glanced in the direction of Lady Matlock, who remained unmoved by the situation, and decided to follow her example.

Mr. Collins, however, was right on time for his cue.

His own family - much obliged - such an honour - not escaped Mr. Darcy's notice - but then all his cousins far from being completely plain - had some notions himself - but that --- glance at Miss Lucas --- all forgotten now - he the happiest of men - everything fine at Longbourn - such a delightful village - Hunsford --- another glance at Miss Lucas --- quite as convivial - a rather superior, if he may be allowed to say so, poultry house to be sure - everybody in the finest health and spirits - are much obliged to Messrs Bingley --- bow --- and the condescension! - head almost banging against the table - Mr. Darcy! - he shall write directly - honour - quite speechless - thank you.

Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.**

The evening ended without any casualties, however.

Mr. Bingley found out his heart's darling was safe, sound and single. Mr. Darcy had the pleasure of overhearing that none of the Miss Bennets - 'good-natured ladies of whom the second eldest was her particular friend', as Miss Lucas enlightened Colonel Fitzwilliam, who in turn described Hunsford village to the best of his abilities to her - were married as yet.

Georgiana Darcy felt some pangs of guilt for being the more talkative of the hosts for the remainder of the evening, but her brother's reassuring small smile he forced himself into over the dessert, offered ample source of relief, sufficient enough to prompt her to perform for the guests later, though she would only play.

Miss Bingley recovered to a degree which made her willing to exhibit, too, although her eyes were restlessly hunting the corners of the room, as if she expected one or other of Miss Bennets to materialise miraculously at any given moment. Mrs. Hurst's readiness to display her skill was never lacking, and even Miss Lucas obliged the company with an air, the execution of which Mr. Collins praised amply before, during and after the actual performance. She then retreated from the piano, which was then taken over by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Hurst, indulging in a duet.

And so the evening ended amidst, in some cases, superficial, and in other, completely sincere and unaffected cheer.

* The dictionary entry mode of expression pinched from Dorothy L. Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey.

** Pinched, too, directly from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer- the Sunday school David and Goliath debacle.

Part 12 ~ Facing The Enemy

Posted on Thursday, 30 January 2003

In which Mr Darcy is haunted by an English county and a family name, does his best to escape them until he succumbs, returns to the scene of the crime and does his duty.

Having been so spectacularly brought forward over the Darcys' Christmas dinner, thereby leaving the master of the house open to the attacks of well-disposed inquisitiveness on the part of his relations, the name of Bennet settled down quite comfortably in the house on Park Lane and refused to stir.

It was enough to take the fight out of a much stronger man, let alone of one whose defences had been worn down by lack of sleep, highly disturbing visions that came to him during the scarce hours of repose, and sheer eagerness with which everybody seemed to be referring to the name Elizabeth, too, bore.

"Four sisters! How wonderful! I should dearly love to have a sister."

Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Bingley sat in the drawing room one fine morning in the beginning of February. Mr. Bingley came to call on his friend but Mr. Darcy was inexplicably absent from his home, and no member of the household seemed to be certain of his whereabouts.

Had they chanced to present the dilemma before Mr. Forsythe, it would all be explained soon enough. That is, if the gentleman would be able to utter a clear word at all instead of muttering into his chin - a sort of behaviour very uncharacteristic of his usual articulate self --- something that sounded remarkably like, 'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark'.

Let it be known that Mr. Forsythe was a keen admirer of 'Will' - for Mr. Forsythe and The Bard were on first name terms as theirs was a long and intimate acquaintance. Mr. Forsythe harboured a firm belief that every line Mr. Shakespeare ever produced was capable of providing solace or insight in a particular predicament. Not that Mr. Forsythe had personally perused the aforementioned lines in their entirety, but those he did peruse, had struck him as possessing that quality.

But to return to Mr. Bingley. He came to call on his friend, and was surprised to find him away. However, this unfortunate detail did not deter the good gentleman in the least. He stayed and talked of Miss Bennet to Miss Darcy instead.

Georgiana was delighted. Her social circle was quite limited, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned to the North, and her Aunt and Uncle Matlock had repaired to Derbyshire. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley made a common enough appearance in her drawing room, yet their company provoked Georgiana into extreme reticence on the only subject they seemed to care about, and that was Mr. Darcy. Therefore, the regular visits offered little pleasure to either party.

But to be able to speak to one who had so much fascinating information to impart, was a delight beyond anything! Mr. Bingley's conversation was somewhat fixed on one subject, granted, yet his voice so animated, his manner so engaging, that Miss Darcy's attention was secured throughout the accolade to a woman she had never met. It roused a substantial amount of curiosity in her. What could the woman who had inspired such affection be like?

Mr. Darcy's exact location at that moment would assuredly astonish Mr. Bingley greatly, for the gentleman was hastily proceeding in the direction of the part of the country which he was in no inconsiderable hurry to depart from some months previous. Wild horses could not drag him that way - a tug at the heartstrings might, but not wild horses - yet a missive addressed to him in a bold, daring hand, did.

Mr. Darcy inspected the post. There was a brief note from Colonel Fitzwilliam, asking him to set the date for their visit to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, together with the weekly reports from his steward at Pemberley, and Mr. Payne, his agent. Mr. Darcy quickly read them all, decided they needed not be answered until later in the day, and had a good mind to stare blankly into the library fire until some other equally compelling occupation presented itself, when he noticed another letter. The handwriting was wholly unfamiliar to him. His hand reached for it, and he broke the seal.

Dear Sir,

Regretfully, I must inform you that the matter we discussed prior to your departure to London November last, has been recently brought to my attention by a clear manifestation in one of my officers of the type of behaviour you had cautioned me against.

The gentleman in question has been paying marked attentions to one of the ladies of the immediate neighbourhood. Knowing full well - and having you to thank, Sir, for this information - the extent of lowliness to which his conduct may stoop, I took upon myself the office of disclosing the gentleman's motives.

Her family, from whom the debts of honour accumulated during his brief stay in these parts could not be concealed completely, was soon convinced of his mercenary motives and voiced their disapproval in no uncertain terms. The lady herself is quite another matter. She is not to be prevailed upon by any argument; hers is a strong and passionate attachment.

I therefore take the liberty of applying to you, Sir, if you would be so kind as to put the facts of the matter, if this is at all possible, before the lady, in the manner you had discussed them with me. I would not trespass on your time had I any hopes that she was to be moved in any other way, and if you had not expressed an interest in this matter on your own accord.

Mrs. Forster and myself shall be honoured to have you as a guest in our house in Meryton, should you decide to come.

I am, dear Sir,
Yours, &tc.

Geoffrey Forster

'Hers is a sincere and passionate attachment.'

The very wheels of the carriage seemed to move in tune to the fateful statement.

I would not suppose it anything less. Misplaced it may be, based on misrepresentation and persuasion of an immoral and base ... But it is not in her nature to love by halves! To be loved by such a woman, so devotedly and unreservedly -

He held Colonel Forster's missive in his hand, wishing against his better judgment that his fingers would find themselves clasped around Wickham's neck.

"She is an absolute angel!"

Mr. Bingley was not to be asked twice to describe the mistress of his heart. He would have held back in the presence of Mr. Darcy, no doubt, but as it was, he saw no reason - and had no inclination - to keep his feelings in check. The conversation which took place at the very same house some months ago, and left him quite dejected, was almost forgotten. Ever since Christmas, prevalent in Mr. Bingley's mind was the remembrance of the happy days he had spent in Hertfordshire, the charming smiles Miss Bennet had bestown upon him, and the strength of his own affection. Indeed, he privately cherished hope, nay, determination, to take whatever course of action necessary to inspire a similar sentiment in Miss Bennet.

Mr. Bingley's resolve was, however, at the moment limited to the attempts of doing justice to Miss Bennet's softness of voice, mildness of manner and tenderness of expression. Judging by Georgiana's wide-open eyes, he was doing a fine job. Could there be such sweetness and delicacy united in one human being? Apparently so.

Mrs. Annesley was mildly amused by Mr. Bingley's speeches. As long as he dwelled on the lady's fine qualities, and not on the subject of his devotion, though, there could not be any real harm in it, she concluded, and proceeded with her embroidery.

"You said Miss Bennet had four sisters. Are they all as amiable?"

Mr. Bingley, invigorated by her apparent interest, embarked upon enthusiastic praise of the Miss Bennets.

Miss Elizabeth, to be sure, was every bit as amiable as her sister, although she was considered not so charming by some. Some evidently did not include Mr. Bingley, for he praised her good looks most eagerly.

"I wish Darcy would be here, though, he could tell you a lot more about Miss Elizabeth himself. He and she did not get on famously together, but he was not inclined to disparage her beauty nevertheless. In fact, it piqued my sister to no end, hearing him praise Miss Elizabeth's fine eyes on at least two occasions. There were times I thought Caroline was quite ready to do something drastic in order not to have the compliment repeated in her presence." Mr. Bingley could not help but grin at the memory of his sister's sullen face.

Mrs. Annesley at this point resorted to a gentle cough which made it very clear to her young charge that a change of subject was indeed desirable before the conversation turned into something akin to tavern banter.

Georgiana immediately sat up straight in her chair, blushing, and said,

"Pray, how is Miss Bingley? I have not seen her or Mrs. Hurst for several days now."

That, from Mrs. Annesley's point of view, a remarkably well-placed remark, and quite unnecessary from Mr. Bingley's perspective, put sufficient damp on the conversation as to make Mr. Bingley disposed to bid farewell to the ladies.

He left Park Lane none too disappointed by not having met his friend, and every memory of Miss Jane Bennet brought a fresh hope to his heart and a more radiant smile on his lips. Yet strangely enough, it never occurred to Mr. Bingley to repair to Hertfordshire himself, and follow his resolution to win Miss Bennet's heart through. At the back of his mind, the conviction in Darcy's voice as he stated any hope in this case was virtually non-existent, still lingered. Perhaps, perhaps ... Yes, it would be better to discuss it with Darcy after all. Or wait just a little while longer ... Yes, wait.

Where was Darcy anyway?

The notion of waiting for his tea, however, did not agree with Mr. Bingley. He soon enough proceeded to his own home, as deeply in love as ever, and just as indecisive as to the course of action.

Meanwhile, some twenty-five miles away, Mr. Darcy had little choice but to wait. He had been welcomed by Colonel and Mrs. Forster, made as comfortable as someone to whom nothing mattered anymore, could be made comfortable, and bid his host to arrange the meeting with the lady as soon as possible, for he was much engaged in London. Colonel Forster was keen to oblige, and the fateful encounter was to take place late that afternoon in the presence of a female relative.

His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. His hands were stone cold, and there was a blinding pain in his temples as he awaited the arrival of the woman he loved.

I cannot knowingly give her pain. But what should I do? If she loves him, then... If he could but make her happy ...

Strong man as he was, he was momentarily overcome by the realisation that he must ruin her happiness and peace of mind. His had been forfeited long ago.

If I am to lose her ... Lose? She was never yours to lose!

Mr. Darcy seemed to be fighting a battle against himself, and one from which he was unlikely to emerge the winner. He felt he had to reveal the truth to her, the truth regarding the man she loved - as little as he deserved to inspire such a precious feeling! Yet how was this to be achieved without at once destroying whatever hopes there may be in some distant future for her to become his own?

He was half-blinded by the persistent headache, his jealousy of Wickham, his indignation at allowing himself to become victim to such a base feeling, and the sheer despair in face of his thwarted hopes. It became clear to him, after all, that he had cherished hopes of uniting his life with hers. It all seemed futile and utterly absurd now.

I shall never see her again. I would not be able to face her, much less speak of love to her after today, and she would not have me even if I had been the last man on earth! Elizabeth, could you not see through him, could you not see him for what he is? Damn, damn blackguard!

For one brief moment, Mr. Darcy had his heart set on leaving the room, the house, the town, for he was almost overwhelmed by the joint burden of responsibility and his own pain and suffering. Yet he felt incapable of moving an inch closer to the door. The frustration accumulating in him for months was threatening to break him at last. Presently, it only hardened him and made him numb to his environs. He stood there waiting, anticipating his fate, wholly and completely incapable of action.

I will tell her the truth, the whole truth, and then ... If she is the woman I think she is, she will hate me for it, but trust my words, and Wickham shall not have her. And I shall have done my duty.

Darcy buried his face in his hands. She was lost to him forever.

"Mr. Darcy, they have arrived now."

The Colonel had taken onto himself the task of being the messenger of doom - little did he know of it, though. Darcy was stirred out of his numbness. He clasped his hands behind his back in the last desperate effort to calm himself, and nodded to the Colonel briefly.

There was a muffled rustle of skirts to be heard, and shortly after, Colonel Forster ushered into the room a pair of ladies.

As Mr. Darcy had not appeared by mid-afternoon, nor had he sent any message to his sister, as he was in the habit of doing when he was delayed on some business or other, Mrs. Annesley began to worry. She took good care to hide her unease for the sake of Miss Darcy who, for the present, did not appear troubled by her brother's unaccountable absence. However, some inquiry had to be made, and finally, Mr. Forsythe was consulted.

There is no need to report the entire conversation, let it only be stated that Mrs. Annesley emerged from the conference with her eyebrows raised, saying to herself softly,

"Well, well, well... Is the young lady to have her eager desire for a sister granted then?"

Mrs. Annesley was not in the habit of conjecturing on her employer's personal matters, nor did Mr. Forsythe indulge in any theorising in that direction. As soon as the word 'Hertfordshire' passed his lips, there was hardly any need to say anything else, for that geographical entity had gained a most interesting status among the staff of the Darcys' household. James the footman could not, after all, be expected to denounce the faculty of hearing while attending to dinner guests, could he? And news, particularly of such exciting nature would spread as quickly in large as in small households.

And when Miss Darcy, evidently concerned for her brother, finally shared her anxiety with her companion, Mrs. Annesley was all cheerfulness as she assured Georgiana that her brother was away on 'a very particular business'. Further than that she would not venture, for Mr. Darcy's private affairs were indeed private, and he would disclose everything upon his return to London.

Darcy determinedly fixed his eyes on the door. His hands were still upon his back, his knuckles deadly white as he clutched his hands fiercely, without being conscious of any bodily pain. His countenance was ashen, and there was cold sweat upon his brow that betrayed the strain that was upon him.

As soon as the ladies entered, there was a remarkable transformation to be observed in him. His cheek gained a notable shade of colour, and instead of stepping forward to greet the arrivals, he stood transfixed.

Colonel Forster proceeded, very properly, with the introductions.

"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Shaw is Miss King's aunt from Liverpool. Her husband is Miss King's legal guardian. This is Mr. Darcy, who has come to see you from London."

She is free, and unharmed! He has not hurt her, he shall never be able to hurt her!

'Relief' is hardly the word to describe Mr. Darcy's feelings when he, instead of dark brown curls, saw before him auburn ones, and encountered clear grey eyes in place of a pair of fine dark brown ones which had glittered in his direction with an alarming degree of ridicule so often before.

He had, perhaps for the first time in his entire existence, encountered absolute bliss, and it remained quite untainted by the fact that he was no closer to making Miss Elizabeth Bennet his partner in life, and indeed, had as little hope as before of doing so.

A tremendous weight had been lifted off his mind and soul, and as incapable of anything but passive involvement he appeared only moments ago, as resolved he was to act, do, officiate now.

The very existence of Miss King had been unknown to Mr. Darcy until her appearance in the Forsters' drawing room, true, but this did not hinder him in his desire to offer help and advice. Soon enough, he grasped the hard reality of the affair, aided by well-timed questions and half-sentences, which slightly confused Colonel Forster, who had suspected Mr. Darcy of taking an interest in the matter for less philanthropic and more romantic motives. Yet it appeared he knew nothing of the fact that Miss King was the sole heiress of a very handsome fortune, namely Ł 10,000 - a year's income, after all, even to Mr. Darcy himself. But Colonel Forster was a man capable of great adjustment and thus he discreetly supplied all the information that Mr. Darcy required.

Miss King observed the proceedings with wide-eyed astonishment. Many a young lady had been slightly intimidated by Mr. Darcy before, including the most fearless of the species, amongst which Miss Caroline Bingley should be numbered. So it was not particularly surprising that Miss Josephine King, nineteen years of age, born in Bristol, and raised in Liverpool, should also find herself unable to meet the eye of Mr. Darcy.

She arrived at the Forsters' house that day to defy the world again, as she had done - with considerable success - on previous occasions, when her mild Liverpudlian uncle and aunt attempted to coax, cajole, and reason her out of her affection for Mr. Wickham, and when Colonel Forster hinted darkly at her heart's darling's dishonour and corruption. She would have nothing of it, no! Josephine King was a girl who knew what she wanted, and the little matter of whether she would get the man she wanted was far more likely to be settled to her liking than not.

Yet Miss King found her resolve to be weakening by the minute as it collided with that of the handsome gentleman who had come all the way from London just to talk to her. He spoke so decidedly, with such a good-humoured smile, and an earnest tone in his voice, that by the end of good quarter of an hour Miss King was willing to 'reconsider' openly, and owned it privately that Mr. Wickham was nothing compared to Mr. Darcy.

It remains doubtful whether Mr. Darcy would have been gratified by such a compliment. He was content, however, with the outcome of his conversation with the young lady. The next step was to deal with the gentleman, and Mr. Darcy was fully intent on proceeding directly to Wickham's quarters.

And so he did, encouraged by the knowledge that he was closer to Elizabeth Bennet than he had been in months. He walked in the direction of Wickham's lodgings with so light a step that made Colonel Forster suppose that he positively rejoiced in spoiling Wickham's plans, and could not wait for the moment he would do so.

This, perhaps, was not the kindest nor the most accurate portrayal of Mr. Darcy's character, for in the latter's mind there was only one thought, contributing much to the airiness of his step.

She is safe ... And she is near.

The encounter with his childhood friend was about as pleasant as it was to be expected. Mr. Darcy chanced upon a party consisting of Messrs Wickham, Denny, Pratt and Chamberlayne, and neither of them was too pleased to see him. For one thing, they had just embarked upon what promised to turn into a most enjoyable afternoon, evening, and night (and very possibly not so pleasant a morning following them), and besides, they all knew how infamously Mr. Darcy had treated their host.

However, Mr. Wickham had his reasons for not allowing whatever Mr. Darcy came to discuss, to be discussed in the presence of his loyal comrades and he bid them return later in the evening. Unwillingly, they acquiesced.

Wickham sat back in his chair, arranging his booted feet comfortably on the table whereupon a deck of cards had been discarded when there appeared on the horizon the most unwelcome interruption in the shape of Mr. Darcy.

"Well, Darcy, what is it now? Get out with it and be gone, for I am much engaged at present."

"From what I hear, Wickham, that is not the only sort of engagement that you have the desire of entering upon."

"And you have come all this way to congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials? Why, I call that positively touching!"

Wickham's face widened into an insolent grin. He was evidently enjoying himself immensely.

"I am afraid congratulations are hardly in order, sir, if the engagement has been called off."

"Called off? Ah, you mean those meddling relatives from Liverpool? As long as the lady sticks by me, they can't do a thing, can they? And Josie is my girl, so you see, you may safely congratulate me. No interfering elder brothers there, I made sure of that."

Mr. Darcy's blood boiled, yet he remained calm.

"Indeed. However, I regret to inform you that Miss King received, within the last hour, some most distressing information regarding her future husband's character and the nature of his professed affection for her. Consequently, she experienced a thorough change of heart, and is at this moment on her way to Liverpool, accompanied by her guardians."

Mr. Darcy went on,

"I shall see to it that your character be known, Wickham, if ever a report of any attempt at engaging another respectable lady's affections reaches me again. You may rest assured that I should hear of it well in time."

Mr. Wickham recovered his composure after being shaken by Darcy's announcement to no small extent. His feet were deposited on the floor now, yet he was still leaning back in his chair leisurely. It was, however, clearly an attempt to appear calm when he was in reality much agitated as a result of the utter failure of his design.

"You shall have me live a hermit's life then, eh, Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy replied in a calm, rather subdued voice, which gave fine emphasis to the words he uttered,

"The style and manner of your living, sir, are nothing to me. They concern me only to the degree they may harmfully affect others."

"How very philanthropic of you, Darcy! Yet ... I cannot but wonder-"

Wickham bent forward and squinted at Darcy. "How precisely is the exposure of my perhaps not quite flawless character to be brought about without any permanent damage to the reputation of others?"

Darcy's colour heightened.

"Before you come close to pronouncing a name entirely unworthy of being soiled by your mentioning it, let me only say that there is always room aplenty in Debtor's Prison, when you grow tired of this wonderfully commodious establishment. I believe I have said quite enough. Farewell, Wickham. I do not believe our paths need cross again, if you choose to tread yours carefully."

Chapter 13 ~ Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

Posted on Monday, 29 September 2003

In which Mr. Darcy walks down the path of no return and Mr. Bingley misses his tea but gets something unexpected in its stead which makes him quite forget the pangs of hunger

Well! At least this is over and done with!

Mr. Darcy's thoughts seemed to imply that another mission, perhaps a more demanding and daunting one, remained before him. Perhaps it was so; setting his foot outside the slightly suffocating environment of Mr. Wickham's Meryton lodgings, however, Mr. Darcy felt nothing but an odd mixture of relief and exasperation.

The excruciating pain of the early morning trip to Hertfordshire had been brought on by a firm belief that henceforward he would be compelled to relinquish the hope whose existence he had barely acknowledged. This course of action rendering itself immaterial by the simple expedient of Mr. Wickham being utterly unable to restrain from pursuing the wealthiest eligible bride in the radius of five miles or so, Mr. Darcy found himself for the first time actually being grateful for Miss Bennet having only Ł50 a year to call her own.

The astonished relief at finding the real state of the matters quite different from his own imaginings, came on so abruptly as to leave Mr. Darcy in a singular state between happiness and anxiety. Thought upon thought rushed through his mind as he paced the main Meryton street, which he had held in his memory of months past as nothing but a muddy lane. Yet at present, there seemed no end to it, and no escaping the puzzled looks of the passers-by speculating on the reason that had Mr. Darcy storming about Meryton with the air of a man possessed.

"Ah, Greene. I know I said I would not be back before evening, but you know better by now than to take me at my word in such matters, eh?"

The hard-tried servant inquired whether Mr. Bingley would be joining the ladies.

"Oh, my sisters are at home?"

That was a cause for wonder, indeed, for past weeks seemed to have been spent in one long succession of morning calls on acquaintances or to various milliners' establishments. Life in London, after all, made so many demands on one's time!

Greene reported that it was true, however, that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were both present and accounted for. And...

"Oh, and there is a visitor, sir. A Miss Bennet."

It took Greene's entire ten years' experience in service to manoeuvre his limbs in an agile manner, which preserved Mr. Bingley's dignity and disguised the fact that he had well-nigh tripped himself over. Before the servant could make what he considered a dignified exit and leave the master of the house to collapse at will undisturbed, the said gentleman bolted for the parlour door. On reaching it, though, he did not enter with matching alacrity. He hovered before it uncertainly, took a deep breath - several of them, in fact, ran his hands through his ever ungovernable hair, only to find himself standing next to his servant again, whispering,

"Uhm... would you mind telling me, am I anywhere near being presentable?"

Greene made a succession of uncommitted noises and proceeded to arrange Mr. Bingley's coat, which hung somewhat listlessly about the shoulders. That accomplished, Mr. Bingley was silently pronounced fit to make his appearance in the parlour.

Reason I have flung out of the window ages ago. It must be so, for it appears I am about to enjoy Mrs. Bennet's hospitality of my own free will!

For indeed, Mr. Darcy found himself on the outskirts of Meryton after all, and treading the bemired lane, which would, if he persisted in it, take him all the way to Longbourn. And, as he, once having established his position, saw no rational argument supporting the notion of turning back, it may be indeed supposed that his intellectual powers had temporarily been diminished. This impression may be corroborated further by stating that no cold sweat appeared on his brow at the anticipation of coming within the hearing range of Mrs. Bennet's high-strung pitch. The expression on his face bordered dangerously on positive gaiety.

Elizabeth had been out walking for a few hours, reading and rereading her sister's letter.

Clearly, Jane was as miserable in London as she had been at Longbourn. She tried, for the sake of her sister, to exert herself and appear as if nothing had happened, but the letter gave the wretched truth away nevertheless.

The matter was indeed quite straightforward. Her sister was heartbroken, her every hope of happiness shattered, and it was all for the sake of satisfying one man's pride and conceit. Charles Bingley had not been absolved of his share of the blame either. How could a grown man of two and twenty, possessing a substantial independent fortune, be so susceptible to flagrant manipulation, was frankly beyond her. However, her anger was somewhat abated by the fact it was precisely his good nature - although some, and Elizabeth herself was inclined to be one of those, would refer to it as a simple case of indecisiveness - that had endeared him to Jane after all. To think it could have been the origin of lifelong happiness instead of misery! Elizabeth pitied him.

Miss Bingley, however, was quite another matter. Towards her Elizabeth was not inclined to be quite so benevolently disposed. She had made no secret of her designs upon the Darcys. The likelihood of Mr. Bingley marrying Miss Darcy Elizabeth was not at liberty to conjecture at, but that Miss Bingley should be forced to strike down her sails one of these days, was certain. And at this point Elizabeth's wrath, combined with helpless sadness she felt for her dearest sister, reached its climax.

Miss Bingley could never have induced her brother to stay away from Hertfordshire all on her own. No, it was Mr. Darcy's name that sprang to mind at this sordid plan to keep him at a distance - for Elizabeth had no faith in coincidence. Mr. Bingley's attention was not to be held for long, perhaps, but his affection for Jane had been sincere, and would have outlived a few days of the Town's glitter and amusement. There had been a ploy of some sort, and Mr. Darcy was at the bottom of it, to be sure.

As it happened, Mr. Darcy was not only at the bottom of the ploy, as it were, but also mere forty yards away.

Sincere, passionate... So sincere and passionate was Miss - What's-her-name, that she changed her mind in no more than half an hour! How should I fare if I were to...? She is a prudent woman, and...

Darcy flinched at his own choice of words. Prudent, indeed. The word repulsed him. He had witnessed many a 'prudent' marriage, in which either, or, if there was prudence to be had in abundance, both parties benefited considerably from the union, be it by addition to wealth or advancement in society.

And this is how it shall...should appear: I taken in by her charms, she a penniless mercenary.

It had not been so long ago, Darcy remembered, when he silently accepted the fact that the day must come when he would marry for proper reasons, those being, naturally, providing a suitable mistress to Pemberley, and, in due course, an heir to same. He hoped the thought of it would become less unpleasant when he met with a suitable candidate, yet as she failed to appear among the many eligible young ladies of good fortune and breeding who were more than willing to be considered for the position, he began to have his doubts whether this was not to be the one and only duty he would find very hard to fulfill.

He had not been able to imagine himself in love, not with one of the aforementioned ladies, or anyone else. Anyone else meaning someone below him, and that, as such, was completely out of the question. He had viewed being in love as a weakness - a fool's game from beginning to end.

And so far, it has been little else! Here I am, scampering about countryside... What would Caroline Bingley say now? 'Six inches deep in mud, I am certain' - How well she looked that morning! A fine pair we were, both muddy up to our knees almost...

Mr. Darcy's expression brightened. A small smile appeared on his face as he reflected on the phrase.

Yes, the pair of us. We.

He rather enjoyed the use of first person plural. The small smile was still on his lips, as it became something more than a grammatical concept.

"Mr. Darcy ?"

He bowed hastily. His action complied with the demands of decorum but failed to perform the task of concealing the rich colour which became apparent in his cheek. The lady paid no particular attention to it. Her own cheek was likewise glowing.

"You are not in London?"

Indubitably, the remark would have been answered with one involving a similar degree of perception, had it not been for the slight bite on the lower lip and an impatient blink of Elizabeth's eye acknowledging the pointlessness of her statement.

She hurried to correct herself,

"We heard it on good authority that you were never again to return to this part of the country. It is believed that Mr. Bingley wishes to give up the estate entirely."

Well, this is an unusually eloquent reception.

Elizabeth was likewise rather overwhelmed by her own verbosity. She should curtsey, and be on her way, lest she should grab a stone and hurl it at him. Piqued by the fact that she had spoken to him, and yet more by being unable to compose herself, she nevertheless went on speaking. That he should but stand there and listen to her, looking slightly puzzled, irritated her still further.

"I wonder how Mr. Bingley could possibly spare the time to travel all the way to the country when he is so much engaged with you in town, Mr. Darcy."

What, Bingley? I have not laid eyes on the man for almost a fortnight!

"I suppose, the fact that you" - spoken as if she had tossed a stone at him - "are here, must very likely anticipate Mr. Bingley's reappearance in Hertfordshire."

What in the name of heaven have I done now? Whatever it is, Darcy, better stay calm and find out.

"Good afternoon, Miss Bennet."

That is an opening of sorts, too, I suppose.

Mr. Bingley was experiencing a similar sort of anxiety when three pair of eyes fixed on him with various degrees of wonderment. This Miss Bennet was far from eloquent, yet her entire manner, animation in her eye and all together a visible increase of spirits upon his entrance, convinced the gentleman he was far from unwelcome, even if quite unexpected.

"Charles!"

"Brother!"

'This will not do at all', Miss Bingley's and Mrs. Hurst's eyes seemed to say to each other in a quick exchange. And how right they were.

"Very good to see you again, Miss Bennet."

Even if you may not reciprocate the feeling just at present.

Darcy had trouble placing his hands in any sort of position that would appear neutral, disengaged and aloof. After several unsuccessful attempts, he positioned them behind his back.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you. I have come this morning, on a very special -er, business."

Mind your tongue, Darcy! Better clarify the Bingley matter first - cannot make neither head nor tail of it, right now.

"I am afraid Mr. Bingley did not accompany me this time. To own the truth, I did not even consider informing him that I was to visit Hertfordshire; my departure was somewhat abrupt. I am sure he will be glad to receive news that you are well. You and your family, I mean. You are well, I trust?"

All of a sudden, the feeling of awkwardness faded. He cared not what his look or indeed, his words, might be expressing. He understood that sooner or later he would have to resort to some definite turn of phrase. He had made up his mind. There was no turning back now.

Elizabeth Bennet could hardly deny the fact that she was indeed in excellent health; the evidence was overwhelmingly conclusive.

"And your parents? And sisters?"

Blast! I appear to be taking the entire family's medical history.

Elizabeth blushed slightly at the thought Mr. Darcy had had ample opportunity to hear of the nervous complaints which affected Mrs. Bennet. Her blush deepened at the image of Lydia and Kitty galloping about Netherfield dining room with their trophy - Mr. Chamberlayne's sword. She would not think of it. Her shame was nothing compared to the one he should indeed be feeling. She fixed her mind on Jane's letter, which was still there in her hand.

"I was rather hoping, Mr. Darcy, that you yourself would be able to provide me with some information on how my elder sister was."

Elizabeth's voice trembled with emotion as she thus addressed her companion. She knew very well that her behaviour was not entirely proper, that she was about to rouse his anger and render the situation rather awkward indeed, yet she was beyond troubling her mind with it. There was no one to witness their conversation, and as for Mr. Darcy himself, she was intent on procuring some evidence of guilt, if that, indeed, was possible in a man so entirely self-absorbed and proud, and cared not for what other reaction her probing may bring on.

"This is such a lovely surprise! I had no idea you were to come to town, Miss Bennet! How good of you to call so soon after your arrival - how long, may I ask, are you to stay?"

Miss Bennet, although quite fluttered by the fervency of Mr. Bingley's smile, managed to observe quietly that she had been in London those past four weeks.

The sisters heartily wished themselves out of the room. Even they could not face persisting in the charade which was beginning to collapse all around them. If only Mr. Darcy had been there, he would surely know how to tackle the matter. Yet he was patently absent, and furthermore, had no knowledge of the situation.

The situation was - beyond the impending catastrophe - as follows: Miss Bennet's arrival to town had been announced by a letter which received no response. Then, another note came, and after a prolonged interval, clearly indicating their indifference, the ladies ventured out to Cheapside one fine morning after all. This was to be a return visit, and the two ladies were hard at work, putting on their iciest manner with Miss Bennet, that it should be a never-repeated occasion.

Now, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sat quietly, certain that their brother would be too occupied by Miss Bennet's presence, and she, in turn, by his, to speculate on how precisely could it have come about that they had never met each other during the past month.

For a short while, this, indeed, seemed very likely. Mr. Bingley sat down on the edge of the chair closest to Miss Bennet, and gazed at her adoringly. She blushed, yet she did not stir. Her eyes were cast deep down. The room was intensely quiet.

Mr. Darcy looked genuinely confused. First, he was reproached with having Mr. Bingley tied to his apron strings, and now, seemingly, he was to have some knowledge of Miss Bennet's whereabouts and well-being as well.

He felt rather uncomfortable at the mention of Miss Jane Bennet, for he had been striving to drive aside the thought of what his role had been in his friend's hasty removal from Hertfordshire. He had seen Bingley suffer; he suffered himself. Yet his own anguish did not mitigate the weight of the responsibility he felt, it only made it appear more oppressive. He, Darcy, had at least the comfort - for want of a better word - that he had brought his distress upon himself. He could not, however, claim the same for Bingley.

Was he right in interfering with his affairs? Should he not have let him face his own disappointment, if that was indeed what he would face? Was it not only...

Envy? Jealousy? That he had loved, and I...? Oh, to blazes with it! I shall make everything right, Bingley shall be here tomorrow, they may have my own carriage and be off to Scotland if need be, if only...

By now, Darcy's cheek had lost its crimson blush and assumed quite a pallor. What the thought of Mrs. Bennet's hospitality was not able to accomplish, the questions roaming his mind, did. He would not think of it, not now. All would be well.

She had known it! There was proof enough of it in his countenance. He had done it. There was guilt written plainly in his face. This should satisfy her, she apprehended as much. Yet she could not leave it at that.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you saying you are not aware that my sister Jane has been in London for over a month now?"

What is the meaning of all this? How...? Caroline Bingley! She never breathed a word to me about it.

Elizabeth tone was quite sharp, and her gaze insistent. Their eyes met.

Her breathing was shallow and quick. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and there was a blunt pain in her forehead. How could he stand there, look her in the eye, and pretend he had not the slightest notion of what she was speaking?

I see. I am to take the blame.

It was all painfully clear to him now. Bingley's sisters have indulged in some contemptible plotting. Jane Bennet had been staying in town, and not a word of it had reached his or Bingley's ear.

I have done nothing amiss.

Darcy ran his left hand across his forehead.

"Indeed, I have not had the pleasure..."

Elizabeth drew breath in sharply.

Of all ludicrous, empty-sounding phrases...

"No. I had not expected you had. Tell me, Mr. Darcy, what precisely did you stoop to this time? Burning my sister's notes? Or did Miss Bingley manage that on her own?"

It was Miss Bennet who first broke the silence.

"I am afraid I must return to my uncle's now."

"But you have only just come!"

Miss Bennet smiled, and stood up firmly.

"On the contrary, I have been here for more than half an hour."

"But..."

"It was a pleasure," blushed Miss Bennet most becomingly, "to see you again."

"Thank you for calling," Miss Bingley curtseyed in eager desire to get rid of the guest. Mrs. Hurst displayed a no-longer-at-home-for-visitors smile and followed her sister's example.

"Will you let me accompany you and make sure that you reach your uncle's home safely?"

For the first time, Miss Bennet looked Charles Bingley full in the eye. For a moment, he was certain of her acceptance, and had already moved towards her with his arm stretched out to receive hers. Miss Bennet averted her gaze and said softly, yet clearly,

"I do not believe that will be necessary, thank you."

She bravely faced three astonished looks and, with a curtsey, was out of the room.

Throughout the entire four months of their acquaintance, Darcy had been rather convinced of Elizabeth Bennet's disapproval of him. To a great extent, he attributed this to his own awkwardness of manner when in her presence and the undeserved slight on her he had been provoked into the very first evening they met.

Nevertheless, Darcy had never presumed her, whose good opinion had become increasingly important to him, capable of such a sharp speech as the one which had just crossed her lips. Not only was he accused of willfully doing wrong - he had, of this there could be little doubt, scheming and disguise imputed to him.

It was all too much. The relief and joy, the sudden release from the overwhelming burden of agitation, leading somewhat naturally to a half-conscious decision to make his feelings known to culminate in this, this...

Why, the way she speaks, I am hardly any better than Wickham!

However, as the lady knew nothing but good of that gentleman, Darcy realised that he himself should scarcely benefit by the comparison.

Part 14 ~ Difficult To Speak, Yet Impossible To Be Silent*

Posted on Wednesday, 5 November 2003

In which Mr. Darcy and the voice of reason are both rather eloquent in their communication to one and the same person, and Mr. Bingley prepares for an adventure in the streets of London

"Madam, if you could but bear the inconvenience of the presence of one who is obviously disgusting to you a while longer... I am fully aware I have no right to do so, yet I feel obliged to ask for an explanation of the charges laid at my door. I apologise for my forwardness, and would be most grateful for a few words to shed light on the subject. What precisely am I being accused of?"

Darcy's entire frame shook with restraint as he spoke thus. His feelings were torn between the indignation at the mere thought he should be seen as one capable of something so completely repugnant and utter astonishment at the vehemence of Elizabeth's conviction. Could she be so blinded by Wickham's allegations, could she trust him so implicitly, to be eager to pronounce himself guilty of such baseness as concealing her sister's presence in Town from Bingley? They must be on very intimate footing then, or she...

This will not do! Wickham has nothing to do with the matter. This only concerns herself and me.

Therefore Mr. Darcy checked the inclination to fall prey to ill-timed jealousy, and resolved to do everything in his power to clear himself, as much as his pride asserted itself and whispered in his ear that all effort was quite wasted on one who would suppose him capable of such proceedings to begin with, as Miss Elizabeth Bennet evidently did.

I can but try, and prove that she misjudged me. I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!

She met his eye as her colour rose. He had never seen her look lovelier, and as soon as he acknowledged that to himself, he upbraided himself for it.

Little does it matter now, and little does she care for what I may seem to think of her, or have to communicate to her. I must not give myself away though, by staring at her in this manner.

Poor Mr. Darcy! He knew not it scarcely signified how he might look, or act, or what he had to say for himself. He was a man found guilty and pronounced sentence upon and the judge in charge of the case was indisposed to hear any defense in whatever shape or form it might come; passionate pleading - which was out of the question anyhow - or rational argument.

Elizabeth was in a hardly lesser state of perturbation than her companion. On reading Jane's letter, she was certain that her sister's misery was to be wholly attributed to Mr. Darcy's interference, and longed to speak her mind of it to someone. Chance had it that none else but Mr. Darcy was to be that person. Spoken as she had to him, however, the anger was quite gone, lifted off her chest as soon as she pronounced the words. There remained only unspeakable sadness, oppression of mind, unlikely to be abated by anything other than but by giving vent to it, as she did with the other, more passionate feeling.

Alas, tears are not to be commanded, and prevailed upon to halt until one is at liberty to shed them - that is, unaccompanied and somewhere where the sobs that give as much comfort as the tears themselves, cannot be overheard. Therefore, the amount of disadvantage to Mr. Darcy's position at that precise moment was to be increased by the fact that his presence curbed those tears and their natural flow.

The two have by that time resumed walking in the direction of Longbourn. However, as Elizabeth spoke, after taking in a deep breath and turning her flushed face against the chilly wind, hoping that it would dry her eyes, and make it possible for her to preserve her dignity to some extent, for she was not going to cry in front of him, she again paused in her step and said quietly,

"Very well, sir. I have no objection of explaining myself, although I believe you are not so ignorant as you claim. However, let us suppose it so. Can you deny, Mr. Darcy, that you have done everything in your power to separate Mr. Bingley from my sister Jane, that you were the initiator of the removal to London, and that you have, once there, kept Mr. Bingley in Town expressively in order that he should not see my sister?"

"I cannot. Miss Bennet, I have no wish to deny it."

Mr. Bingley could not believe his ears. For a while, he stood in the middle of the room, agape in amazement, and looked after Miss Bennet on whom the door had just closed. How could this be? But Darcy did warn him, he did say...

There was no need to recall the particulars of the fateful conversation. He knew it by heart. What Darcy had said, preyed on his mind ever since.

"Charles? Whatever is the matter with you?"

Caroline Bingley's words made her brother regain the use of his limbs again. Without a word, he darted after Miss Bennet.

"Indeed, sir? I am surprised you should call yourself accused first, and then make a confession of your own free will!"

This was spoken in a low trembling voice, without a trace of fierceness left in it. Elizabeth was beginning to feel the increasing awkwardness of the situation - she had taken her cause far, and was not certain she should like to take it any further. She wanted nothing but to get rid of his company so that she might stop restraining her emotion, and rest, rest... The wind was beating against her face, it was getting dark, she had been away from home for hours, and her father would be worried. Oh, let him say what he will, and be done with it! For she was surely never to see him again as long as she would live.

Her companion noticed her distress, too. He did not see the fatigue in her face, nor did he observe the tears. He felt he was fighting a losing battle, yet fight it he must, or else he was not to bear living with himself any longer.

Jane Bennet walked towards the carriage that was to convey her back to Gracechurch Street as one not completely certain of one's whereabouts. If she had amazed the Bingleys, well, then, no-one's amazement was greater than Jane's own.

She had known, of course, that it might well happen that she would come upon Mr. Bingley whilst paying what she had decided was to be her last visit ever to his sisters. It was not completely improbable. She had strived hard to convince herself that all what had passed between them was but a normal intercourse of a very presentable young man and an impressionable ignoramus, and that she had made a mountain out of a molehill, at her own expense, naturally. It was hard to lay aside the fact that Lizzy seemed to think Mr. Bingley was partial to her, but, well, Lizzy had wished it to be true for her sake, and Jane loved her all the better for it.

She loved Mr. Bingley, too. The bittersweet truth sprang upon her the moment she encountered his smiling face. Oh, what was she to do? There was nothing better she would like but to be in his presence, yet she recoiled from it and fled his house at first opportunity. She had been so sure of herself! One look from him, though, and all was a muddle again.

Miss Bennet's soliloquy on the front steps was not destined to bring about any deliberate conclusions, for there was the man of the moment himself, eager to hand her into the carriage.

"Miss Bennet," he said, not releasing her hand even when she was well inside, "if I may not accompany you now, would it be convenient for me to call on you tomorrow? I have never known happier days than the ones I spent in Hertfordshire; I wish we could remember them together! I would not wish to disturb your aunt or uncle, though. I can come any day, you know. At any hour you choose to name."

This remarkable flexibility, accompanied by an earnest gaze, was too much for Jane Bennet not to behave as was expected and desired of her.

She smiled gently and spoke softly - blushing, as Mr. Bingley had apparently forgotten he was still holding her hand -

"My aunt will be very glad to meet you. I am afraid my uncle is much engaged with business. However, if you should come to dinner, you will find them both at home."

"And..."

It became clear at that moment that Mr. Bingley's right hand had been a subject of envy, for its left mate seemed eager to have its rightful share of holding Miss Bennet's hand, too, and once they were joined in this mission, both the left and the right slightly strengthened their hold upon a much smaller and gentler of their kind.

"...Yourself? Will you be glad to see me as well?"

Bingley was quite astonished at his own boldness. Well, there was no use loving someone if she was to be kept in dark about it, was there? Better that she may be ready so as not to be completely taken aback later.

And a very sensible and successful policy it was, too, for as heavy as her lids may have appeared to be - her eyes falling to the ground as they did, there was no other explanation - Miss Bennet whispered, "Yes. Very much so." Or something to that effect, for every drop of blood in his body rushed to Mr. Bingley's cheek at that moment, and seriously impeded his hearing faculties.

"Tomorrow evening then?" he murmured, releasing her hand after all.

A nod of the head and a barely audible 'Yes' were quite enough to have Mr. Bingley gaze lovingly after the carriage for minutes past it had vanished all together, and then trip the stairs to the entrance three at the time.

"Do you mean you take pride in your actions?"

Elizabeth felt her anger rising again. There really was no end to his arrogance and conceit, seemingly.

Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. He needed some time to reflect, to compose his thoughts, to assure his manner towards her was irreproachable. Yet time was one thing he did not have.

"Not at all. Please..."

He could not stop his hand before it moved towards hers of its own accord. It was one frantic attempt to hold her attention, to convey his feelings - he could not stop himself. His look spoke worlds, and Elizabeth found herself powerless for a moment. If at any point in this interview, this was the time she was prepared to listen to him with some equanimity. His look was so earnest, so utterly in discord with the presumptuous statement he had made.

It was a work of a moment, however. Mr. Darcy's mind regained the control of his body, and he withdrew his hand as swiftly as possible, as if the soft fabric of Elizabeth's gloves were ablaze.

Elizabeth likewise recovered her composure, and spoke bitterly,

"I should not be surprised, I think. One who has treated one's childhood friend so abominably could hardly be expected to shrink from hurting one who is but a common acquaintance to him - common in more than one aspect, in your opinion, I dare say, Mr. Darcy! What amazes me is that there, as in Mr. Wickham's own case, there could not have been any objections to the people themselves, only to their position in society!"

"Madam, I see now what you must think of me. I thank you for speaking so frankly. This has been a most enlightening interview indeed. However -"

Slowly, Darcy. Do not lash out at her. Remember, she does not know. You must tell her.

"I refuse to name Mr. Wickham's name in the same breath than that of your sister, Miss Bennet. I do not know what this - man has told you, how has he imposed himself upon you, and you, possessing a generous nature and an intensely unfavourable impression of- But that is irrelevant."

Darcy's voice trembled. He waved his hand as if to rid himself of every thought of Mr. Wickham.

"Yes, I have separated my friend from your sister, and yes, I have done it for the reasons you mentioned. But not merely for those; they would be immaterial - for Mr. Bingley may marry wherever he chooses after all. I believed your sister to be indifferent to him; I still do. I acknowledge it was not entirely my place to interfere, however, I am closest to him, and it would hurt me very much to see my best friend trapped in a loveless marriage."

"Trapped!"

Elizabeth was shocked beyond measure. Jane, not devoted to Mr. Bingley? Jane, attempting to ensnare a man into matrimony?

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Please. Listen to what I have to say.

"I do not mean by any premeditation on the part of your sister, Miss Bennet. I said myself that I noticed no sign of affection, real or feigned, on her part. It was Sir William's remark on the night of the ball - when I had the honour of dancing with you for the first time - that put me on my guard. I soon realised it was everybody's expectation, looked upon as a certainty by the entire neighbourhood; I also chanced to overhear your mother's own opinion on the subject."

Oh no! Elizabeth was mortified for a moment. Mamma could not have chosen her words, her meaning must have been painfully clear.

He hastened to reassure her.

"Nobody who has had the privilege of the acquaintance of yourself or your elder sister could feel anything but esteem for either of you, Miss Bennet. You have been frank with me, therefore I shall be frank with you - the lack of propriety in the behaviour of the younger Misses Bennet and even your mother, however, cannot go unnoticed and... I am sorry to give you pain, but such were my observations. Believing Miss Bennet's affections were not engaged, I did what I felt was my duty by my friend who had, as I later found out, every intention of proposing. If I was wrong, I apologise. Regardless of what you believe me to be, I would never keep the fact that she was in London from Mr. Bingley. That indeed would be the kind of conduct I could not be guilty of."

Elizabeth was numb. Her mind raced from the scenes at the assembly - Mrs. Bennet commenting on Mr. Darcy's yearly income and his pride practically into his face - Netherfield and Lydia and Kitty making a spectacle of themselves being chased round the room by Chamberlayne and some younger officers - Mrs. Bennet discussing her daughter's upcoming grand marriage... Oh, he was right. He was right. But what kind of a man would say such things to her face?

Her mind raced as she attempted to take in everything that was being said to her. He seemed to have grown quite insensate to his environs, so fully intent on communicating what he had to say in his defence to her. Elizabeth, for all her exhaustion, distress, and determination against believing a word of his narrative, found her attention arrested by it.

Darcy cleared his throat. Up to this moment, his gaze rested resolutely on her face. Now, as he was about to embark upon a topic even more distasteful to him, he could hardly bear it. Were he to witness any sign of... He hardly knew what. She could have hardly bestowed her affection upon that unworthy rascal.

Could she?

Mr. Bennet met her in the hall.

"My dear Lizzy, are you not aware that by indulging your own selfishness you seriously interfere with mine? But I begin to feel I overestimated your value as the only sensible person in this house, taking into account this afternoon's escapade."

Elizabeth wished her father would set aside his usual dryness, and let her be. It would have been very convenient if he had not time to get hold of a candle before he came out to meet her. As he had fetched one, she was not in a position to hide her red, swollen eyes and a feverish expression from him.

Perceiving those, Mr. Bennet did indeed spare his favourite daughter with the full strength of his repartee. He set about making her warm instead, and keeping the rest of the family at bay. Not that anyone was likely to intrude upon Elizabeth.

Mrs. Bennet was upstairs, happily dozing after a mind-calming dose of sherry, consumed in view of the vicious attack on her nerves her second eldest's inexplicable absence from the hearth had occasioned. Mary, who had been obliged to lord over the afternoon tea in her mother's stead, accompanied in that meal only by her younger sisters, as Mr. Bennet took his in the library when in the absence of Jane and Elizabeth, now sulked majestically over Fordyce's Sermons. The two youngest girls were in the parlour, performing a post-mortem on a bonnet they have put out of its brown-ribboned misery immediately after tea which Elizabeth had missed.

Thus, Mr. Bennet was perfectly free to dispatch his daughter to her room, instructing Mrs. Hill to keep the fire in it well tended to until the family retired for the night, and to bring Elizabeth some small refreshment, for he surmised that whatever disturbed her, and made her stay away so long, would better not be prodded into just at present.

"How extraordinary, Caroline, that you have not said anything about Miss Bennet's presence in London!"

"Oh, it had quite slipped my mind, I assure you. Louisa and I have been so preoccupied with our town acquaintances, that Miss Bennet's presence... Well, one does always associate dear Jane Bennet with the country after all, does one not?"

Her sister, quite engrossed until that very moment with the arrangement of her perfectly arranged laced cap, vigorously assented. Jane Bennet was so out of place in Town as could be. Except perhaps in Cheapside, now, there was a thought!

The mention of the area failed to produce the desired effect upon Mr. Bingley. Unable to dwell on anything, except the acknowledgement he had just received from Miss Bennet, he overheard his sisters' stinging remarks, and, fortunately for them, did not wonder at their apparent remissness. The word 'Cheapside' rang in his ears however, as dear as any word could be, connected with her!

"I wonder if coachman will know his way... Oh, we shall manage. I can sit on top and assist if need be."

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had some difficulty following their brother's train of thought. Perhaps this was not so unusual, as he often found it perplexing, too. Yet this time the ladies were to be shocked beyond compare by his languid explanation of his last erratic remark.

"Oh, I am to dine in Gracechurch Street tomorrow."

The swift enlargement of oncoming snowflakes, gently setting down on the windowsill, crowding each other out, held Elizabeth's gaze. Despite all her efforts, the afternoon's conversation preyed upon her thoughts.

The initial indignation was soon joined by wonderment at Mr. Darcy's behaviour. Their entire communication until then had not amounted to one third of the exchange that took place between them that very day, and that fact alone was astonishing. The subject matter alone had rapidly turned from peculiar into deeply mortifying, and continued so until they bid farewell to each other not fifty yards away, and well in sight of her home.

'He has always had a happy ability to pull wool over people's eyes by appearing a very charming, very decent sort of fellow, whenever it suited him.'

Whereas you, sir, take pride in your inexhaustible supply of candour, dispensing justice as you see fit, without any regard to the feelings of others!

Oh! She could have slapped him for it, despicable man! Elizabeth threw herself on bed, and inflicted her blow upon the pillow instead, which opted for passive resistance.

Mr. Darcy's words had indeed struck home. That much she was compelled to admit to herself. Mr. Wickham has indeed been most charming, and it had been precisely his charm that made her oblivious to his extreme loquacity on the subject of harm done to him by Mr. Darcy.

How could she have not perceived the comparative oddity of his behaviour, the complete impropriety of such information being entrusted to a complete stranger such as she then was, and being made known abroad? She had prided herself so on her discernment! And where had it brought her? To abusing a man to his face who never did her any harm!

To me, he did not, but to Jane... Oh, how I wished she were here, to tell right from wrong, as I seem to get nowhere! But no, Jane is not to know, of course, of any of it... It may all still be right. I can hardly believe his word, yet what good would come of his telling a falsehood?

'After my father's death, Mr. Wickham decided to abandon the pretence of good-naturedness before me at last, and demanded to be supported financially instead of taking orders as my father, who had also bestowed upon him a living, had wished. I acquiesced, in hopes that would separate our paths for good. However, I was sadly mistaken.'

What reason could he possibly have for inventing such a story, and about his own sister? It has to be true. Poor Miss Darcy!

Elizabeth coloured as she remembered that 'poor' was not the epithet with which she had previously honoured the lady. Without knowing her, and basing her opinion solely on her own prejudice - little else it was, she owned it to herself now - and on Mr. Wickham's carefully tailored description, she had put her down as proud. In coming to such a conclusion, she had been greatly assisted by the fact she disliked her brother. And why did she dislike him? Because he behaved just as he pleased. And what was he guilty of that she did not do herself?

She had half expected him to find an excuse to leave her side as soon as possible, immediately as they met in the lane, yet - where could have been going? It was less than likely that he should have lost his way. For all the shortness of his previous stay in Hertfordshire, he was familiar with the environs of Netherfield nonetheless.

And then, when they did run into each other... Judging on his behaviour towards her in the past, he would most likely be yearning for a quick release from her company. Yet he had been - Elizabeth hid her face in her hands as if the realisation gave her physical pain - perfectly polite. As close as amiable as he could be, she gathered, and winced immediately at finding herself judge him anew.

Oh, why should I dwell so much on him, his behaviour and his actions? It is his words I wish to consider!

Hot tears of anger found their way down their cheeks. This time, the anger was directed at herself, however. Without her realising it, within two hours since Mr. Darcy's departure, his words had been validated by the very power of discernment that had failed her previously. Elizabeth Bennet was not one who would attempt to preserve her integrity at the expense of rational argument.

Yet, she could not but echo the thought that came to her mind as she stood by him, mortified by his comment on the behaviour of her family: what kind of a man would say such things to her face?

A man who had similar accusations made against him in the same manner perhaps?

What did he say that was not true? And after all that has been said, after all he had revealed to me of his own accord...

And the manner of their parting! She could not stop contemplating his extraordinary speech.

"I am afraid I have taken up too much of your time, Miss Bennet. I felt it had to be done, and I am sure you will not take it against me."

No, as you have set yourself against me so completely, the mere fact I have kept you outdoors until dusk should not do much further harm.

Suppressing the bitterness in his voice, Darcy continued,

"You have never desired my good opinion, and I have certainly not been fortunate enough to obtain yours. However, I would not be able to leave Hertfordshire had I not left you in possession of facts. Whether you choose to believe them, is up to you entirely. I have, rather selfishly, showered them upon you as... As I could not see myself so debased in your eyes. But I shall trouble you no longer. Your family must be anxious for your safety by now. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

*Taken from a quotation by Edmund Burke, 'An event has happened upon which it is difficult to speak, yet impossible to be silent.' - Speech, 5 May 1789, in E.A. Bond (ed.) Speeches...in the Trial of Warren Hastings (1859), Vol. 2.

Opinion 15 ~ The Best Sweeteners of Tea *

Posted on Friday, 5 December 2003

In which Mr. Bennet hears too much news, Mrs. Phillips too little, and Mr. Darcy feels the grave consequences of being too well informed altogether, while Mr. Bingley cherishes neighbourly feelings and discovers his ability for compromise

Mr. Bennet had had, by his standards, rather too eventful a morning. Over breakfast, he was interrupted by an urgent note. Mrs. Bennet had been rather indisposed, and consequently, she hardly marked that the correspondence from Lucas Lodge was addressed to her husband, who was known to shun their neighbours to an extent that appeared almost rude at times, rather than to her.

The sherry of the previous day had not agreed with Mrs. Bennet in the least, she complained. Only Mrs. Hill realised that the disagreeableness of sherry was in direct proportion to the amount of it missing in the decanter. Yet Mrs. Hill was not one to speculate on it, for she was devoted to her mistress, and, in any case, anybody's hand may slip at times. She was very pleased by the knowledge that her own hand was not of a slipping disposition, however.

Deciphering the specimen of Sir William's penmanship at hand - which was an accomplishment in itself - Mr. Bennet scoffed slightly at the contents of the note and resigned himself to do as it bade.

“Are you certain, absolutely certain?”

“I be seein' it wi' me own two eyes, sir.”

“B-b-but, Martin, think. There was fog…” he added hopefully.

“No fog, sir! As clear a day as ever it is, preperin' fer snow, and all. No, sir, it was as I told.”

Sir William Lucas brushed his forehead, on which several cold snowflakes had landed during the interview, with the back of his hand. He found the situation rather distressing. He had no pleasure in hearing such tales, and would rather forget all about it. But the mischief had been done, as Martin found his confidant in none other than Mrs. Flowerdew's cook. And what she found out, was not kept from her mistress long. Once this admirable personage had heard of it, she deemed it her Christian duty to carry the news of scandal (for invariably, scandal it was what reached Mrs. Flowerdew's ears, and if it had not been one on reaching them, it certainly became one afterwards) abroad. The good people of Meryton, after all, had to be put on their guard against the vipers at their collective bosom!

Sir William sighed and went to share the burden of his responsibility with Lady Lucas.

Caroline Bingley had barely got a wink of sleep that night. The entire effort of separating the Bennet girl from Charles, all in vain! He had to burst in precisely at the moment she was there. Oh, it was so like a man to upset one's plans!

Briefly, her mind lingered on another specimen of the species that had not exactly contributed to their success either. He was nowhere to be found, on the other hand. Now, if it were the other way around, if it were only Mr. Darcy who entered the parlour the day before… Oh! No! That would not do either. As much as she was willing to trade Mr. Darcy's absence for that of her brother, Miss Bingley was compelled to recall the Christmas dinner episode.

Bennet! Indeed. Such a common name, really.

Caroline scratched her nose pensively and contemplated the infinite uselessness of the opposite sex.

By the respectable hour for calling - for regardless of the extent of the scandal, Mrs. Flowerdew knew what was proper, and held to her standards most strictly, despite of how uninformed her friends and neighbours may continue through the early part of the day - nearly the entire Meryton knew of the incident Martin so obligingly relayed to Sir Lucas that very morning. From her window, conveniently placed above the busiest - and, at the same time, the only worthy of that name - street in Meryton, Mrs. Phillips realised that something was afoot, as soon as she observed the majestic figure of Mrs. Flowerdew repair through the door to her abode at three o'clock in the afternoon precisely.

Mrs. Phillips was not one of Mrs. Flowerdew's particular friends. She therefore settled down to await the Bearer of News. Allowing time for the visits to the ladies fortunate enough to be on most intimate terms with her, Mrs. Flowerdew, Mrs. Phillips concluded on basis of rich experience, would ineluctably descend upon her own establishment about a quarter past four, or, if the piece of news was scandalous indeed - and Mrs. Phillips rather hoped it to be so - no later than half past.

Patience, Mrs. Phillips reminded herself, was a virtue.

“What?!”

Mr. Bennet raised himself abruptly from a comfortable armchair in Sir William's study. Sir William stood up as well, lifting his arms before him as to placate his neighbour, and stuttered,

“R-r-r-really, I have every faith the man is mistaken. It cannot be…”

“Then why, pray, did you even bother to relay such nonsense to me? I have never heard anything quite so ridiculous, and trust me, these two ears have had their fair share of folly, and beyond!”

“Yes, yes…”

Sir William was for a moment distracted from the course of argument he was trying to present. Confound it, what was it that his wife had said? Ah, yes.

“It would mean nothing, you see, Bennet, but… This man, Martin, had gone and spread the word before I could silence him. I gather he was warming his feet by the Flowerdew kitchen fire last night. And so…”

Sir Lucas waved his arms about helplessly, in hopes that Mr. Bennet would reach his own conclusions upon hearing the name of Flowerdew. He wished with all his heart he would not have to present things quite so bleakly as Lady Lucas did. His hopes were well founded. Mr. Bennet stopped in his restless stride and remarked bitterly,

“I wish to God his trousers had caught fire while he was at it, that is all I am going to say of the matter.”

After a few minutes of extremely uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by the nervous shuffling of Sir William's feet, Mr. Bennet regained sufficient composure to thank his neighbour, and decline the kind invitation to see Lady Lucas on account of the fact he wished to leave for home immediately. Sir Lucas made some polite sounds of regret and patted his neighbour's shoulder as he was about to depart.

“I do not believe a word of it. Neither does Lady Lucas.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, averting his eyes. A hoarse `Goodbye,' as he was wrapping himself in his greatcoat, and he was off.

It was to be a very special day; Mr. Bingley could feel it in his bones. So confident was he of it, that he exhibited behaviour more than customarily annoying to his sister. He went so far as to whistle at the breakfast table. It was positively distasteful.

Caroline Bingley's mouth assumed the appearance of a thin red line of displeasure.

At a breakfast table in a part of London which could not possibly have, under any circumstances, an uplifting effect on the aforementioned thin red line, an interrogation was taking place.

Mrs. Gardiner, a dear, sweet woman, if there ever was one, and falling assuredly into the category of good aunts, was that morning exhibiting a touch of iron lurking from beneath the velvet glove**. It had been weeks since she observed, day after day, her beloved niece wane. That she should blossom as a result of a simple drive and a half-an-hour visit, called, felt Mrs. Gardiner, for an explanation.

Furthermore, this very same niece, altered beyond recognition, a hue of crimson lingering on her cheek, and melody returning to her voice, had announced that a gentleman was to be added to the family party for the evening meal of the following day. Consequently to this announcement, Mrs. Gardiner set about ordering some extra menu features to her cook. This alacrity was not merely founded in the fact that in Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner had found an excellent mistress of his home and hearth. It was also a method, to which Mrs. Gardiner resorted in order to avoid asking questions, when asking questions was ill placed or ill-timed.

However, as Jane had had, in the meantime, the entire night to compose herself, Mrs. Gardiner the same period of time to concoct a plan, and Mr. Gardiner had had his breakfast, kissed his children, affectionately patted his wife on the lower left arm, winked to his niece, and was effectively out of the house, Mrs. Gardiner perceived no further obstacle to proceed.

There was another young woman who had had the whole night to calm her thoughts and features. In her case, a single night was not nearly enough for her to succeed in this object. She came down to breakfast, dabbled with her toast and chose not to take notice of either tea, most of her family or their inquiries. To own the truth, there were not many inquiries to take no notice of after she had resolutely stated that one could, after all, become absorbed in a letter from a sister - blush - to the extent to be rendered oblivious to one's surroundings - another blush.

At such arguments, her paternal parent merely raised an eyebrow and presumed that it was the concentration of fickleness and foolishness in one's home that had something to do with the immense absorption in the missive, which alone, however, did not account for the raised colour in the cheek of his second eldest offspring. Yet he let it pass.

He thought very highly of himself, that much was certain. He did not go to any great lengths to conceal it. That, too, was rather evident. He took no pains whatsoever to be on a good footing with his social inferiors. On the other hand, Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Darcy would not, if situation arose, bother concealing his dislike or disapproval of anyone.

Therefore, his words puzzled her to an even greater extent -

`You have never desired my good opinion and I had not been as fortunate to obtain yours.'

Had he tried? Did he wish it? If so, why?

In all honesty, Elizabeth found the quest for any evidence of that rather futile when she first set out on it. She scoffed at the mere idea that Mr. Darcy would condescend to being polite or in any other way soliciting the good opinion of someone he found barely tolerable…

It must have been a figure of speech.

Yes.

Quite.

Hmmm.

Rather unlikely.

The bitterness of the recollections of their previous meetings was gradually supplanted by consciousness of how different he had appeared to her during the interview the previous afternoon. There was something about him Elizabeth had not observed before. At the time, she paid little attention to the changes of his features as he spoke to her; before, she could acknowledge it was in his power to exhibit any modification of his countenance, since there had been in her mind a firmly set belief that it was not able to convey any kind of emotion other than contempt and haughty disinterest, both requiring very little effort on the part of his facial muscles.

As soon as she made that observation, she was obliged to refute it on her own accord. If her memory was not playing tricks on her all of a sudden, that was far from being true. A myriad of expressions appeared in her mind. He smiled. He rolled his eyes. He looked uncomfortable. Disgusted. Amused. Anxious. Mocking. Aloof. Guilty. And… Genuinely pleased to see her.

Unwillingly, Elizabeth Bennet examined her own conduct on these separate occasions, and what she saw did not contribute to her ease of mind. Her unwavering support of Mr. Wickham which, she was now humbled to confess, was based rather on her dislike of Mr. Darcy and susceptibility to Mr. Wickham's charm and - Elizabeth bit her lip - flattery, than on any knowledge of facts. She went so far as to equal his and her sister's grievance against Mr. Darcy! No wonder he was adamant in his claim to have not done wrong by Jane.

As soon as the thought introduced itself, Elizabeth dismissed it. He might have been influenced by it, yet she must not believe him so. That, again, would stand for nothing else but prejudice, and would be unfair. But not to have seen Jane's affection for Bingley!

She paused as another recollection occurred to her. The party at Lucas Lodge - the very same occasion when Mr. Darcy asked her to dance with him - was obliged to ask her, rather, due to Sir William's incessant urging! She felt a pang of humiliation. Less than a day after proclaiming someone `tolerable', to be compelled to stand up with them in midst of inferior society… Elizabeth's sense of ridiculous was too pronounced not to be stirred at this. Which of the two suffered more? Mr. Darcy's pride or her own?

Having given it further thought, she found considerably less cause for amusement in that dilemma.

She reproached herself for letting her train of thought be averted - she was to think of Jane. What was it that Charlotte said? Yes!

`Jane should try harder to secure Mr. Bingley, and do so as soon as may be.'

As far as the notion of securing a gentleman was from Elizabeth's sense of what was right - should one feign more affection than one really felt, to procure a return of feeling? She should think rather the opposite, in order to acquaint oneself with the other party! But obviously, that was not Charlotte's view of things. She did not wish to be unfair to her friend. Seen in a prudential light, it was an excellent match for her.

Prudence, yes. It was all very well to philosophise on prudence, yet one should very much wish to marry for something else!

Jane could have both, only she was to try harder? Throw herself into Mr. Bingley's arms? Elizabeth shook her head. Had it not been obvious to everyone see Jane was doing as much as her timid nature and characteristic reserve permitted her? Charlotte, apparently, did not see it, and she had known Jane for years. Was it then inconceivable that Mr. Darcy should find himself under the same misapprehension?

But if he would get to know Jane better, if he saw her again, together with Mr. Bingley—

Elizabeth felt an overwhelming conviction that if only she were able to speak with Mr. Darcy again she would make him reconsider… No, he would hardly listen to her. His mind was made up. What must he think of her!

Through the desire to see her sister righted, and happy, her mind, and, to an even degree, her heart, exercised wondrous pliability to circumstance and the revelations that had been made to her.

“Welcome home, sir.”

A hand brushed the forehead, and through a suppressed cough, the inexplicably absent master now returned replied,

“Good morning, Mitchell. Has Miss Darcy come down yet?”

“Yes, sir. She is, I believe, in the parlour. Shall I inform her of your arrival?”

“Yes, please. I shall join her presently. I am going up now. Could you send word to Forsythe that I shall not require him for the next quarter of an hour or so?”

Rather mechanically, as through no will of his own, Mr. Darcy ascended the stairs and opened the door to his chamber.

The clock above the mantelpiece struck four. Mrs. Phillips lifted eyes from her needlework, and decided on an invigorating walk towards the window. She reached it just in time to see the bulk of Mrs. Flowerdew disappear inside the home of Mrs. Whistler.

“Oh!”

A gasp escaped the otherwise unwavering Mrs. Phillips. It must be something really dreadful Constance Flowerdew had to impart, for she was quite behind schedule. A little after half four, though, all would be revealed. Mrs. Phillips settled down to work again, attentive to every sound, as if there were even a remote possibility her esteemed acquaintance would ring the bell before expected.

She would have to wait a while before she could form her own judgment of his feelings. Jane had been very reticent, yet a few words escaped her of the Netherfield Ball, and once gently prodded by her aunt, in several unconnected sentences, amidst blushes and exclamations of protest, Mr. Bingley was pronounced the most agreeable young man she had ever met.

He had done it, he got hold of a heart so sweet and noble, that Mrs. Gardiner could only pray he may be worthy of it, and, that by some chance, he would not let this very same heart down again, as apparently he had already done once. Edward had been more decisive as the average man, true, but the shilly-shallying of the young men these days… Mrs. Gardiner did not look upon it with a friendly eye. Still, let the young man come, by all means, and see if he is worthy to be fretted about at all.

Mrs. Gardiner was soon as anxious as her niece for the evening to arrive.

Mrs. Phillips's inner clock struck unmistakably. It was little after half four. A glance at an external clock confirmed it. The sound of the bell, however, was lacking. She did not even pretend to raise herself in order to benefit her legs. Her patience had been severely tried, and, as virtues go, Mrs. Phillips would gladly exercise the next on the list. Where was that woman?

That woman, if anyone indeed may be as bold as to attach that epithet to the widow of Percival Flowerdew, was, at that very moment, passing the door to Mrs. Philips's home, and she showed no inclination whatsoever to permit her righteous hand touch the bell.

Mrs. Phillips's hand flew to her face. What had she done? What had she done?

He closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against the panelling. His heart pounded in his ears. He was shivering, yet his skin was aflame.

“Elizabeth.”

Mr. Bennet had no habit of entering the drawing room, if he could but help it. He rarely left his study, and for most of the time, it was taken for granted that he was not to be disturbed unless a visitor specifically asking for the master of the house or an unforeseen calamity descended upon Longbourn. Little did it matter which - for Mr. Bennet perceived both phenomena as disturbing his peace - as long as he was not in his particular retreat overcome by human folly in the shape of one or other of his family, his eldest daughters excluded. And even they dared not enter the sanctum without a very particular invitation.

It was, however, most peculiar Mr. Bennet should issue it invested in his greatcoat still, in a hoarse trembling voice, and with a furrowed brow.

Kitty and Lydia were upstairs, rummaging through each other's closets. Mrs. Bennet returned to her bed. There was therefore only Mary left to witness her father's extraordinary behaviour. As oddities go, there was an abundance of them to choose from for one who would claim herself a student of human nature. But Miss Mary Bennet secretly despised human nature. Her mind was not disposed towards examining so fickle a subject. Therefore she did not bother to raise her eyes from her book; she did not see Elizabeth stand up, turn pale and follow Mr. Bennet out of the room.

“Close the door, Lizzy. Is your mother upstairs?”

“Yes, Papa. What is the matter? You do not look well. Has something happened?”

Mr. Bennet flung his greatcoat on a settee and settled in his chair. He motioned to his daughter to join him in a chair opposite to his. Leaning forward, he cleared his throat.

“I had hoped you would be able to supply that piece of information.”

In the manner of a dizzying whirlwind, the muffled sound of voices protruded into his world.

“Sir?”

“William? Good God! William! Speak to me!”

“Madam, if I may suggest…”

“Would you be so kind to summon Doctor Bridewell?”

“I took the liberty of dispatching Jenkins to that purpose as soon as I entered the room, madam. What I had in mind was—”

Forsythe's eye rested on the small figure perching on the side of the bed, grasping hold of his master's ashen hands with both of her own.

There was, after all, no need for Mr. Bingley to navigate his own carriage through the streets of London, towards that happy house which Miss Bennet had so unexpectedly blessed with her presence. His coachman, with the superior confidence of one who knows his business, carried himself, the horses and the vehicle bearing a much agitated Mr. Bingley, safely through the slippery streets of the capital towards that remote area that was Gracechurch Street.

On coachman's setting the wheels in motion, Mr. Bingley's heart was still in its proper anatomical locale, if throbbing weightily against the velvety surface of the waistcoat, chosen over its less deserving peers, all thrown together in a pile in the middle of Mr. Bingley's dressing room. The shirt fared better, for being wholly and irreproachably white, it had no outstanding competition. Whatever the criteria for selection of his attire, the imminent result of the process was havoc in Mr. Bingley's wardrobe and the nerves of his valet.

The clatter of the wheels clashed mercilessly with the labour of Mr. Bingley's blood pump. The rhythms of the two were in untimely discord as if bent on mocking the young man's feelings. The world was supposed to be in perfect unison with his fondest desires and wishes, down to the last possible detail. Not yet, not yet.

The Embankment. One look down into the dark and gloomy emptiness where he knew the river lay. Heart rapidly progressing down, down, further down into the vicinity of the stomach. A most unnerving sensation.

… “Ouch!”

As the severe trials of the heart continued, Mr. Bingley's skeletal frame as well had a justifiable reason for complaint, directed against the rough and unpolished surface of the street. But was a flight on the wings of passion ever to be deterred by a bumpy road? Never!

… Past the Saint Paul's… A rather sharp turn left - and right - and another left—

The carriage stopped.

With his heart stuck in his throat, in a state somewhere halfway between merry skipping and tremble, Mr. Bingley clutched at the seat as the carriage came to a halt abruptly. He was merely a shadow of the confident, albeit nervous man who had entered the carriage. There was, momentarily, no other feeling in his bones but one of being shaken.

“A glass of water, quickly!”

“Tea! Hot tea would do him good!”

The contradictory requests were both met with alacrity, yet to no avail, as none of the beverages met with approval of their destined consumer. He simply turned his head away when first a glass, then a cup was lowered to his lip, thus very effectively expressing his lack of interest in either.

Georgiana Darcy laid her hand on her brother's forehead, which was by now covered in tiny rivulets of perspiration.

Darcy was shivering, and lingered apparently in a half-conscious state. The moment his disconcerted senses registered the touch, his eyes opened, and his hand stretched out to seize his sister's.

“You must believe me. You must!”

He uttered the words and let go of the hand as quickly as he grasped at it.

The sound of the bell being vigorously pulled at the door of 48, Gracechurch Street, echoed throughout the house and roused Jane Bennet from the position she had occupied for the previous half an hour. The edge and the armrest of the chair furthermost from the entrance to her uncle's parlour presented her last firm refuge in the world of confusion and uncertainty.

Confusion and uncertainty? Yes, for less than twenty-four hours after inviting Mr. Bingley to her uncle's house, she was not altogether satisfied she had acted wisely. One can hardly invite an unknown gentleman to one's place of residence without giving rise to a substantial amount of interest. Even though this interest is concealed in the manner of most polite, gentle and sensible inquiry, as it had been the case with Mrs. Gardiner's all day long, one nevertheless felt it keenly. In Jane Bennet's case the blood vessels in her cheek had been relentlessly at work until she at some point sighed deeply and wished she had not been so precipitate. What must Mr. Bingley think of her?

Fortunately enough for her peace of mind as well as the smoothness of this narrative, she was not to be left brooding upon that question long. Mr. Bingley was quick to follow the mighty sound his hand procured from the doorbell. And, once in the parlour, even a wholly bewildered, indecisive, as well as deaf and dumb person could not be in any doubt as to the nature of Mr. Bingley's opinion of Miss Bennet.

“Pardon me, Papa. What is it that you wish to know? Indeed I am not certain.”

On her face there was a trace of a smile, the result of keen observation of her father. He was considerably upset over something. No doubt it would take him a minute or two to relate the matter, and then they would both share a laugh at his expense, for making himself agitated over nothing. Or would they?

She shifted in her chair nervously and clasped her hands together in her lap. What right had she to be so confident of anything any longer?

Mr. Bennet muttered something under his breath. There was no effortless way to broach the disagreeable subject, and broach it he was obliged to. He sighed deeply and began thus:

“Lizzy, you know I have every faith in your discernment. I take pride in your quickness of mind, and resoluteness of behaviour. I suppose I shall have to admit it to myself one of these days that you are not a little girl any more, and that I may lose you to someone…” He paused slightly.

“I have never pried into your affairs, neither the affairs of your sisters. But now, I must ask you this, and you will, I know, answer me truthfully, and will not suppose I do it for any reason other than your own benefit—”

“Are you… Do you… Blast!”

Mr. Bennet found his task remarkably irksome, and was willing to abandon or postpone it, were it not for the name of `Flowerdew' lurking at the back of his mind, as well as the certainty that approaching his favourite daughter twice on so ridiculous a subject would be quite beyond him. Therefore, he decided to round his speech with a straightforward question to which Elizabeth would have no choice to answer in the same manner, and then… Well, then he should know what he was about and… It would be easier.

There was not time enough to even begin to doubt the latter surmise, for out the question came, forthright enough,

“Have your affections been engaged recently, Elizabeth?”

“In this weather? All the way from—?”

It was very difficult to not embark upon the path of conjecture at this revelation, and it took all the strength of Mrs. Annesley's character. She had already exhibited an uncalled for interest in Mr. Darcy's whereabouts.

Mr. Forsythe was not about to mention any geographical locations if he could possibly help it. But in his customarily dispassionate voice a slight quiver could be detected by an alert ear.

“Yes, madam. The carriage has not yet returned. If I may suggest… Doctor Bridewell should be made aware of the fact.”

Mrs. Annesley nodded appreciatively.

“Thank you. You have thought of everything, I see. I shall go to Miss Georgiana now.”

It was for her, then, to tell Miss Darcy that her brother had ridden through wind and snow all the way from Hertfordshire.

“You are very welcome, sir.”

Mr. Gardiner thus politely responded to Mr. Bingley's speech, which was an effusion of mirth and an apology all in one. It had, just as he was bowing to the Gardiners when Miss Bennet officiated the introductions in soft, trembling voice, struck Mr. Bingley that he found himself in a singular situation. He was, in the space of one evening, to accomplish much, and he set about it with vigour and resolve.

Mrs. Gardiner was known to say months later that on the occasion of Mr. Bingley's first visit to her home, she was sorely tempted to employ her sister Bennet's subtle technique of marching right out of her own parlour, and motioning to her husband to follow her example, so strongly felt she for the young couple.

The conversation was mainly restricted to the Gardiners and Mr. Bingley, for Miss Bennet fled into the arms of her old friend the chair at the earliest possible opportunity. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner meanwhile were appraised of the fact that Netherfield was as fine a country home as anybody could wish for - was it in Miss Bennet's power to confirm his words? It was. He had been away for too long. It was since— November. He regretted very much that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did not visit their brother and sister more often. He could have made their acquaintance sooner.

Mrs. Gardiner felt that if her acquaintance was indeed so precious, it was perhaps worth the effort of establishing actual eye contact. Moreover, she had some fears regarding the gentleman's neck. How he would ever straighten it out after abusing it so abominably, she really did not know.

Upon settling that after all, Mr. Bingley's neck and the potential discomfort of same were entirely Mr. Bingley's own concern, Mrs. Gardiner decided to take a more active part in the conversation.

“Yes, I was told, Mr. Bingley, that no sooner you had properly settled in, you acted in accordance with all the rules of good neighbourly behaviour - you gave a ball. That must have been quite an event.”

It was. It was a wonderful, wonderful evening. Never to be forgotten. He had the honour of welcoming all his neighbours. Was it not a pleasant evening, Miss Bennet? It was.

Mr. Gardiner inquired into the blushing silence,

“How so, if I may ask, that you chose Hertfordshire? Was it its proximity to Town that made you decide to take up residence there?”

Mr. Bingley, at this point, was compelled to release his neck from a rather incommodious twist.

“Well, if I think about it closely—”

His forehead wrinkled with the effort.

“By Jove, you may be right, sir. I had employed the notion of renting a house in Derbyshire for a time, to be close to my friend Darcy - a capital fellow - yet none were to be had. Either on altogether too grand a scale - I did not wish for a Blenheim - or rather too small. Not that I would mind a comfortable cottage myself, however, my sister would not take to one at all, I'm afraid. Living in the country, in general, holds no great attraction to her. I was rather at a loss of what to do on that account, wishing to please her, and - so, yes, I rather think Hertfordshire made a nice compromise, now that you mention it. Well! I have never thought of it in quite that light before.”

Mr. Bingley was astonished at his own resourcefulness as it was revealed to him. He beamed at his host and hostess.

“Hertfordshire! Yes! In all respects, a most excellent county.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled and said softly,

“I am certain my husband would agree. As much as I have grown to like it during the visits to our relatives, I retain loyalty to my native county, which I share, I see, with your friend Mr. Darcy. I grew up in a small village by the name of Lambton.”

The neck sustained another sharp jerk as Mr. Bingley's attention was again re-directed.

“Good Lord! Lambton! Why, that is practically next door to Darcy! I wish he were here then! But you must know him…” Mr. Bingley realised, suddenly, that Mrs. Gardiner and his friend were not likely to be acquainted. He proceeded, somewhat flustered, yet determined,

“Do you visit your old home perhaps, Mrs. Gardiner?”

“I had not been there twice since my marriage. You see, all my old acquaintances had married as well, my parents died… With family and home to take care of, old bonds loosen fast.”

“Oh, Aunt, do not say that! Loosen perhaps, tho' not break!” This exclamation originated from the general direction of Miss Bennet's chair. She continued, “It was countless times you related little anecdotes of your childhood and maiden days at Lambton. You drew us pictures of your home when we were children. And many a Derbyshire tale I know solely thanks to you!”

“Come, Jane, and tell me, which tale do you remember?”

Mrs. Gardiner stood up, approached her niece and guided her to a chair next to hers. There was a limit to what Mr. Bingley's neck could bear without any permanent damage.

The evening thus truly began.

“One cannot really act as if one is surprised,” said Mrs. Whistler meaningfully. “For one, they had all been out and about to catch the officers right from the moment the regiment settled in Meryton.”

“So they were, Laetitia. I cannot but think though…”

Mrs. Whistler raised an eyebrow inquisitively towards her sister, Miss Whistler.

“Ye-ees, Rosalind?”

“Could there not be some mistake?”

“Mistake? Mis-take?!”

To Mrs. Whistler, the concept of placing `mistake' and `Mrs. Flowerdew' in the same sentence - though, strictly speaking, none such rash act had taken place… But the implication! The implication was there. It was not to be thought, much less spoken of. In Mrs. Whistler's mind, `Flowerdew' had the same ring of infallible authority as the Oracle at Delphi to the ancient Greek. One simply did not question the oracle. That is, Mrs. Flowerdew.

Rosalind Whistler stifled a cry as she energetically stuck a needle into her thumb instead of the cloth upon her sister's reaction. She went and did it, so she might as well say what she set out to say.

“I am not above suspicion that Catherine or Lydia may have had… some underhand dealings with… someone…”

Mrs. Whistler was breathing vigorously through her nose, thus producing a sound much in harmony with her married name.

Quickly, Miss Whistler attempted to round her thought,

“But Elizabeth - I do not think… That is, I do not find it in my power…”

Her sentence received a check in the shape of a booming pronouncement of Mrs. Whistler's.

“Rosalind, it is not up to you to try! You heard what Mrs. Flowerdew said. Holding hands! In the dusk! Really, if that is not sufficient, if you need more, I suggest you go and ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet to take you into her confidence. However—”

“If you do, you can hardly expect Terence to let you dwell under his roof!”

Mrs. Whistler's voice rose to the pitch that made that very roof jump.

“At present, I cannot undertake to say anything else but that your brother's condition is serious, Miss Darcy. He is very much feverish and not completely conscious of his surroundings. Nevertheless, I am inclined to think his condition has been brought on by severe exhaustion, some sort of strain upon his mind, resulting in lack of sleep and appetite. These factors brought together, and accompanied by, as you tell me… Well, his state of health is not at all surprising in that light.”

The physician continued in a more reassuring tone,

“You need not distress yourself, Miss Darcy. Your brother has always been strong. What needs to be done now is to reinstate his strength. You must make him take something invigorating. Also something to encourage perspiration. Some gruel would serve that purpose admirably, or Scotch broth later on…”

Georgiana nodded all the way through Dr Bridewell's instructions and recommendations.

Part 15 ~ continued

“Papa!”

Elizabeth sprang to her feet, her face crimson with anger and embarrassment.

“There now, no need to go up in arms!”

Mr. Bennet bit his tongue. The situation was rapidly becoming intolerable.

Elizabeth's mind darted. Where did her father's inquisitiveness stem from all of a sudden? Was it not sufficient that she must find her peace of mind gone, her confidence in her own judgment shaken and every hope of seeing, with an unprejudiced mind, if …?

“Really, Papa…”

Was it possible that…?

As much as her mind protested, the heart was quick to conclude its barely shaped, infant wishes may have found their course to maturity smooth after all.

Over dinner, Mr. Bingley found out about Devil's Lights, and Grey Ladies, and other mysterious Derbyshire wonders, enjoyed himself thoroughly in the small family circle, and bathed in the warmth of Miss Bennet's smiles which were brighter and friendlier by the minute. Alas, time passed, however, and farewell was imminent. Mr. Bingley could not go home ignorant on one point though.

“How long do you intend to stay in Town, Mr. Bingley?”

The weight able to compete with that of the most magnificent of the Peaks fell off Mr. Bingley's chest as he hastened to assure Mrs. Gardiner - and everyone else present - that his plans were not as yet fully formed, still…

“I intend to return to Hertfordshire as soon as, well, that is… Until I do, Miss Bennet - I expect us to remain on the best of neighbourly terms right here in London. Shall we?”

Mrs. Gardiner cast a side glance at her husband, saying, `No shilly-shallying there!' as plainly as possible.

“I shall see Mrs. Fryers about the refreshments for Mr. Darcy. Goodbye, Doctor, and thank you.”

Mrs. Annesley retreated, leaving the door to the parlour wide open. Georgiana felt herself at last able to proceed.

“I believe my brother has had… He did not comprehend where he was, for a brief moment. I understand he appeared perfectly well when he entered the house, and then…”

Doctor Bridewell adjusted his spectacles and led the young lady, now sobbing quietly, towards the closest seat.

“He had been troubled… About something, lately. He told me as much although there was no need for him to do so. And then yesterday morning, he simply vanished, not telling me or anybody - except Forsythe, I believe - where he went…”

At this point, a substantial piece of white linen bearing the initials G.R.B. made its entrance upon scene and was made very welcome. Doctor Bridewell waited until the sobbing subsided, then spoke calmly,

“Miss Darcy, I am convinced the reason for his omission of naming his destination to you was a perfectly reasonable one - perhaps he wished to avoid your being precisely in the state of uneasiness you found yourself in. He may have been delayed by his business whilst he intended to return sooner.”

“You shall,” continued the doctor kindly, “do the greatest service to yourself and your brother to cast aside any thought of it at present. When Mr. Darcy gets better, well… then, I prescribe to you as a doctor and a friend of your family, make him explain himself and scold him as much as you like. There now, sniffle at will, for I am a physician and we are not at court!”

That said, Doctor Bridewell gave a hearty laugh, promised to return to check upon the patient in two hours, and sent a much relieved sister to the sickchamber `to make herself useful'.

She looked conscious enough. The distress of the previous evening must have been the result of her own understanding that she had been wrong in her actions. But why let it happen that way, at all, when he was, if not enthusiastically made welcome, at least very much at leave to come to Longbourn at any time he chose? How he had managed to explain that other matter away, Mr. Bennet would like very much to know, too. His blood boiled and he was very much disposed to employ a much less diplomatic method with the man who was, apparently, to become his son. No-one should trifle with his daughter's feelings in that manner, and make her suffer for it!

He must not rage against him, Mr. Bennet reminded himself. She must care for the man, and whatever happens, he must not lose a daughter through lack of tact and self-possession.

With a heavy heart, Mr. Bennet continued.

“I shall not lecture you, for your behaviour last night and just now shows you are aware of the impropriety of yesterday's occurrence - as if I doubted it. Unfortunately, most of our kind neighbours in Meryton are at this moment dragging your name through the mud in consequence of one of Lucas' servants observing you yesterday evening.”

Mr. Bennet found it quite difficult to watch his daughter collapse back in her chair and burying her face in her hands. The rascal! And where was he now? He might have come already, and confronted him as was right and proper. He should give him a piece of his mind.

Unable to find any words - and what were she to say if she did? - Elizabeth sat completely still in her chair, all colour gone from her face. It had not, till that moment, struck her, to what interpretation her yesterday's encounter with Mr. Darcy might be open. They had met by chance; she was roaming around, reading Jane's letter, and he must have been on his way to… Where? Where had he been going?

She had asked herself that before, yet she did not dare think…

To Longbourn? Well, he would hardly be calling upon the Lucases. Unless he had a message from Mrs. Collins. That, thought Elizabeth, was a very far-fetched and unsatisfactory explanation, for even if Mr. Darcy had stayed in Kent with his aunt - which Charlotte surely would have mentioned in her letter - how likely was it that she would employ him as a messenger? So Longbourn must have been his destination. Her mind whirled - he spoke of some business, but to suppose… She would not suppose anything! She had supposed too much already.

Nevertheless, she could not help but wonder where he was at that moment. Would he be made aware of what her father had just told her? Elizabeth dared not consider the manner in which this enlightenment might take place. Might he be accosted publicly, or dropped hints at …? Where was he staying anyway? Very probably at the inn in Meryton, for Netherfield had been closed for more than two months. If she could but acquaint him with the fact he was to find himself at the heart of a scandal thanks to a harmless walk! But that was not to be contemplated. How was she to contact him without somebody making it their business to spy it out and promulgate it as yet another proof of …? Good Lord!

“Therefore I propose to send a note to the gentleman.” Mr. Bennet's tone could not have been more sarcastic. He continued with false detachment,

“It is of course only a matter of hastening what was to take place sooner or later and will, I as am sure you see, serve rather to clip the wings of rumour than to hurry you in any way towards… more decisive steps. There is no need even to publicly announce your, ehem, engagement. The mere fact of him coming to Longbourn shall do away with the gossip. You observe my point, do you not? Lizzy?”

* A note on the title: it is a part of a quotation from Henry Fielding's play, Love in Several Masques, Act 4, Scene 11,“Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.”

** On the subject of aunts and how to deal with them, I take advyce from the great P.G. Wodehouse himself.

Part 16 ~ Shut the Peppergate!

Posted on Sunday, 16 May 2004

I know where I'm going
And I know who's going with me
I know who I love
But the de'il knows who I'll marry
- Scottish folk song -

“I shall put it all down directly, and Matthews may take it to Meryton at once. I suppose the gentleman is up and about at this time of day.”

Having seen the reaction on his daughter's face to the decisive words which had escaped him a few minutes earlier, Mr Bennet found it very difficult to examine her features in a straightforward manner that had been his custom. His embarrassment over the situation had been replaced by anger with his prospective son-in-law and, something much more painful, a disappointment with his daughter's choice. He had never expected to exult in the fact she was to be taken away from him, but to part with his favourite daughter under such circumstances! It presented a not insignificant blow to him.

Yet it had to be done, or … Or what? Mr Bennet drew breath in sharply. They could brave it out! It had been done before. A fresh scandal would more likely as not introduce itself within a fortnight, and this particular indiscretion - Mr Bennet winced at the word as he imagined it being used in connection with his daughter's name - would be buried in the collective memory of the small community that lived on a diet of neighbours' faux pas and worse.

He was about to exclaim,

`Hell and damnation, you need not have him, Lizzy, you and I shall show those witches their proper place!' when a thought struck him - she had not protested at all.

With a heavy heart, Mr Bennet collapsed into his chair. For some incomprehensible reason, his daughter's heart was bound to that man, and she might have bound herself in word, too… The suspicion gnawed at him - could this have been their first tryst? Heaven knows! And if there had been others…

The only way for Mr Bennet to retain sanity in this situation, was action. His hand reached for a sheet of writing paper, and without saying another word he set to his task.

Sir,

May I request an interview with you at Longbourn at the earliest possible time? There is a matter of utmost urgency I need to discuss with you concerning my daughter.

Yes, and if you had a shred of decency in your body, there would be no need for me to be writing this!

Mr Bennet clenched the pen tighter, and proceeded.

I am certain you had the intention of calling on me yourself in not so distant future, — rather, I hope so, for Elizabeth's sake! — however, circumstances have arisen that require that interview to take place sooner rather than later, as you are perhaps already aware.

I am, dear Sir,
Yours&tc.

George Bennet

Signing his name, it was as if Mr Bennet had reached the limits of his endurance. He would see him, and welcome him as his future son, but at that particular moment, he could not bear the thought of the entire matter any longer. He folded the sheet and pushed it across the shiny surface of the table.

“There. You may read it, of course. I would only ask you to direct and seal it when you are done. Then give it to Matthews. I shall go and change these wet clothes.”

He forced himself to smile as he said,

“After all, I must appear to my best advantage when our visitor arrives.”

Cold weather and the wetness of the roads notwithstanding, Beck's was very well populated that morning. The upcoming Meryton assembly provided an excellent excuse for the ladies to flock into that well-heated establishment, permeated by the rustle of fabric and the whirr of information.

Rosalind Whistler was among them, sent on commission by her sister, who was indisposed. Mr Beck and Mr Aloysius Beck were light on their feet, and swift in their service, yet it was impossible for them to attend to all the customers at once, and therefore, a great number of ladies were obliged to sit, wait and exchange exclamations. Miss Whistler, who was exclaimed at home, and had no particular wish to be so outside it, chose to wait her turn in the least favourable seat closest to the door, thereby exposing herself to a burst of frosty air every time the latter was opened, yet also to a comparatively exclamation-free environment.

A short, sharp gust of wind once again loosened the bottom folds of Miss Whistler's cloak as the door opened but had quite the reverse effect with the tongues up to that moment very much at work in that very room.

Mr Hubbard, the owner of `The Fox and Ferret' in Meryton, looked puzzled. Scratching his head, he turned the letter in his hand repeatedly, and shook it, as if hoping such treatment would make it confess the whereabouts of its addressee. The letter, however, persisted in resolute muteness. Therefore Mr Hubbard did the only thing he could possibly do under the circumstances. He went to find and consult Mrs Hubbard.

“You will not ask me how my evening was?”

Even if Mrs Hurst and Caroline Bingley would choose that particular moment to render a performance of dutiful sisters, they would have found that inquiry slightly superfluous. Mr Bingley's countenance oozed satisfaction.

“Eventful, I dare say.”

Mrs Hurst's eye met that of her sister's. She did not intend to offer any comment or observation. Let Charles tell them how things stood. Miss Bingley, however, could not reach quite to the heights of her sister's wisdom. She had suffered too many disappointments to be wise.

“Pray, how do tradesmen conduct themselves in social situations? I have never yet had the pleasure of ascertaining the level of gentility they may rise to.”

Elizabeth's mind was numb. Her father's words she had heard, the note she had directed in a clear hand, with movements exact and dependable. Her hand was steady as she wrote the name — a name she had neither seen nor put in writing before —, the wax had not burnt her fingers in the least, and her voice had been completely calm as she instructed Matthews to ride to the inn and deliver it immediately. Fortunately the man had been waiting in the hall, having answered Mr Bennet's summons. Matthews knew better than to pay too much attention to the note handed to him - for he had all the ride to Meryton before him to inspect the missive at his leisure - and through that, and her father appearing to be the principal correspondent, or at least aware of a correspondence taking place, she was spared further embarrassment, at least before the servant.

Whether she was so in her own eyes was extremely doubtful. She had acted as if she possessed no will of her own. She did not protest against the charges of improper behaviour. She did not even attempt to remonstrate with her father when his view of the situation became clear. She sat there and sealed the note, which would rather intensify discomfiture than terminate it.

Yet one thought prevailed in her mind. She would, she must, reinstate herself in his good opinion.

The Scotch broth, when the invalid's silent opposition to it had finally been surmounted a little after midday through his sister's insistence, lived up to its reputation admirably. It caused the bedclothes to be soaked thoroughly by Mr Darcy's perspiration, and lulled him into a stupor, interrupted by bouts of harsh cough which exhausted him, if not disturbed him, for Mr Darcy was apparently rendered oblivious of his surroundings and the fact that his sister had sat by his bed throughout the morning.

Dr Bridewell arrived just in time to see his advice adhered to. He frowned as he heard the cough, and wished his patient could tell him of the pain he might be suffering from. He did not share this desire with the impatient sister, and resolved to wait a while longer, before acquainting her with his anxiety.

A knife and fork had a rather rough landing on the plate; it was concluded with a loud clank, echoing liberally in the silence of the breakfast parlour.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I merely wished to inquire how you found the famous Cheapside uncle and aunt, Charles. I am brimming over with curiosity, indeed.”

Caroline Bingley's smile for once did not find a response in her brother's countenance. She turned to her faithful ally, Mrs Hurst. The lady of the house was just saying she needed to see her housekeeper right away.

“That will wait. I am rather in need of your attention now.”

“This must be some sort of blunder,” he said, stretching his hand out.

Mrs Hubbard squinted at the envelope, wiped her hands in her apron - for she was just supervising the production of the tea pastry, and for her, supervision amounted to doing everything herself, as she could not possibly trust anyone else to reach her standards, as experience had taught her.

“Oh, no, dear, he was in Meryton all right, only staying at Colonel Forster's. He left this morning though.”

Her husband stared at her with a gleam of amazement in his eye. Twenty-five years of marriage had taught him much, yet every day added to his education. That his life's companion would know where to find any misplaced sock, fork or bill, was something he had learnt to accept as a fact of life. That she should know where a gentleman she had never met was at that precise moment, was, Mr Hubbard considered, nothing short of wondrous, precisely as she had not, to his knowledge, gone beyond her own kitchen that morning. It was not his place to inquire into his wife's sources of information, however. He took it as read they were interminable and correct.

“Where…?”

“Oh, London, I suppose. Let me see… We'd best have this taken to the Colonel's then.”

And thus the letter, bearing the name of Mr Darcy, Esq. was duly dispatched to Colonel Forster's house, but not before Mrs Hubbard had committed every curve and tilt of the fine feminine hand to her industrious memory.

No sound but the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall was heard. To both ladies it appeared as if the walls themselves leaned forward to hear better, oppressing and suffocating them as they did so.

“Really, Caroline,” Mr Bingley began, “it is rather beyond me how you take such a superior stand against the Gardiners? Every guinea we possess has been made through trade. Or have you managed to forget it?”

Mr Bingley's colour heightened, indeed his cheeks burned with excitement as much as indignation. He was not inclined to speeches; mostly he could not get a word in edgewise, even if he hammered it in. Why this particular morning found him so talkative, he knew not. Nevertheless, speak he must. In an attempt to calm down, he once again took hold of the knife and fork to work them on the half-vanished kipper-dish before him. His elder sister took this as a signal that he had done. Bingley looked up, and said quietly,

“One moment longer, and then this subject is closed, I hope for good.”

Well!

Braving it was one thing, thought Miss Whistler, but this was well beyond braving anything. It was flaunting, and she blushed for the gentleman, who, utterly unaware of the scandal his mere presence caused in the respectable establishment of Messrs Beck & Son, had set foot in the same establishment with the admirable design of purchasing a pair of gloves.

Caroline Bingley, white as a sheet of paper, ran her thin fingers alongside the edge of her saucer, in a vain endeavour to feign that nothing extraordinary was transpiring. Her world shook in its foundations two days prior, when her ridiculous brother entered the parlour at a most inconvenient time, and when subsequently Mr Darcy failed to prove himself the rock on which one could lean and spite all trials and tribulations before her; in fact, he rather vanished altogether.

And now she was being reproached for knowing her place - she was reminded of the less appealing chapter in her family's history - downright scolded, and by Charles, of all people! Caroline Bingley's world swayed and crumbled down amidst the clatter of her brother's cutlery.

It had been a long night, all the longer for all the drams of The Glenlivet, smuggled across the Scottish border - or so Chamberlayne had boasted, at least, whilst his friends clicked their tongues appreciatively, and hastened to offer welcome to the illegally obtained elixir. It did not do to eat on an empty stomach, Denny had said, but when their respective stomachs had been conveniently padded by a mouthful or two - or three, of the noble liquid - eating, somehow, lost its appeal.

With the assembly right around the corner, an invitation issued to all officers, and his only decent pair of gloves converted into a wisp of smoke and a scant amount of ashes through the action of Captain Chamberlayne at an undetermined point in time during the night, Mr Wickham resolved, on his walk home from this gentleman's quarters, to acquire a new pair. He could not appear in front of his betrothed in his spare pair - because, to put it bluntly, he didn't have one. So a visit to the Becks' establishment was imminent.

Light-headedness long ago having been substituted by a wholesome headache, Mr Wickham found that lavishly lit space - for the fog lay low on Meryton that morning - somewhat trying to inhabit. He squinted, perceived the great number of ladies to be served before him, and decided the gloves, after all, could be obtained without dispensing with ready money, or any firm promise of same.

Chamberlayne had burnt his gloves - and seen them burn with an explosion of mirth - unaccountable explosion of mirth, considered Mr Wickham, although he had been amused by it himself at the time, for some reason. So naturally, Chamberlayne should supply him with gloves. There! Nothing more natural than that!

Courteously lifting his hat and bowing in a semi-circle with a self-satisfied smile on his lip, contemplating how he, though having generously sampled the water of life for a prolonged period of time, could hold the attention of the ladies, whilst Darcy, stiff as a poker, would not be able to secure the attention of a one-eyed cat, Mr Wickham made his exit and, his spirits much enlivened by this observation, decided he would proceed straight back to whence he came and make the appropriate demand of Mr Chamberlayne.

Elizabeth could not hold still. Anxiously awaiting Mr Darcy's arrival, dreading it and yearning for it at once, she went up to her chamber, and paced up and down. It was too ridiculous! If anybody but knew what the so called indiscretion consisted of… Such a notion!

She smiled in spite of herself. It really was too absurd. To have something which could be best described as a dispute, interpreted as, as… Her cheeks burned.

Unconsciously, she nested her right hand in the other. She felt the warmth, the excitement of expectation linger and then flare in her limb, and ultimately engulf her.

Would he touch her hand? Would he stop there?

Such folly, worse still, sentimental folly! For once, he behaves like he should, and there he is, engaged, in everybody's eyes. Bound to her in honour! Dreadful, dreadful thought! He must hate her. If he does not yet, if by any chance he had escaped being informed of his expected nuptials, how shall he hate her!

`Trapped in a loveless marriage.' The wish - albeit one based on false conclusions - to have his friend escape this fate, brought on the events which may result in it becoming his own destiny. Had she love enough for them both? Can affection born out of a feeling of guilt suffice to sustain a hasty marriage - for hasty, apparently, it need be?

Elizabeth sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She must be mad to be even contemplating such a step.
And yet amongst all confused, irritating, nonsensical thoughts, a conviction was oddly clear - she could love him.

Would he let her? Would she let herself?

“So give them to me, there's a good fellow, since I can't well go to see my darling Josephine without them.”

Mr Chamberlayne might have looked under the weather, but his spirit was rallying, apparently, for he greeted his friend's words with a grin almost as wide as that which had accompanied the ordeal by fire the previous night.

“Wickham, old boy, you don't seriously propose going to that house now, do you?”

Mr Wickham merely smiled at this attempt to change the topic of the conversation, and stretched out his hand purposefully.

“Come, come, out with them.”

Mr Chamberlayne looked at him incredulously.

“By God, you do not know!”

Well versed in the tactics of stalling, Mr Wickham was unmoved. “I will look for them myself, if you don't bestir yourself presently. You are giving me a headache.”

Mr Chamberlayne mumbled something about headache and where the blame ought to lie, and drew his companion inside by the sleeve.

“Do you mean to tell me you do not know what is going on?”

Mr Wickham, on whom his friend's dramatic tones had finally made an impression, could only shake his head. Indeed, at that particular moment, he knew not what was going on. Was that such an extraordinary effect of a night full of the water of life?

“Miss Elizabeth, you're wanted downstairs.”

Elizabeth started, as Mrs Hill opened the door to her chamber. The good woman hardly knew where to look.

Elizabeth's embarrassment was acute. She did not expect it; she was not ready. Had there been any sound of a bell? She drew breath to inquire, but stopped before a word could escape her. Evidently, Hill knew everything. She was in disgrace. Next quarter of an hour shall make her respectable again. Such respectability!

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes.

“I had better go then.”

Hill nodded and fled with dignity, raising her usual speed up by a couple of knots. Elizabeth lingered still. Her fingers were stone cold; her cheeks glowed. She breathed in deeply and descended the stairs.

From the library, not a sound could be heard. In fact, the entire house was covered in silence; an unusual and unnerving circumstance to Elizabeth. She reached the ground floor. Stopping and gathering courage, she was about to knock on the door, when it opened abruptly. Her father twitched at the sight of her, and Elizabeth's nervous smile did not soften his features; in fact, he hardly looked at her.

“I was going to fetch you myself, Elizabeth. Well…”

“Will you…?”

“No, no. I thought you would welcome a moment of privacy.”

Mr Bennet spoke a hurried, irritated manner and almost passed out of the hall, when he suddenly turned, stepped close to her and said,

“God bless you, Lizzy.”

She entered. Daylight was already scarce, few candles lighted the room, and a modest fire burned in the fireplace. Elizabeth hardly dared raise her eyes as she ventured a step beyond the door. She suddenly found the door closed, and a man's figure within a yard from her. It all happened in an instant. She looked at him, and gasped.

“Well, well… Why so surprised? I wake free, if gloveless, and go on a honourable mission of extracting the spare pair of gloves from my good friend Chamberlayne, who is in any case responsible for my gloveless state - only to find myself obliged to embark on yet another mission of honour: for he tells me I was courting you vehemently last evening in the lane yonder! Everybody knows it, everybody speaks of it, and, well, then it must be true. I have come on a friendly call, but am accepted as a family member. Sweet and tender are the bonds of love!"

Mr Wickham's foul morning had turned into a highly promising day. To be jilted by one girl - to find himself shut out of her house and the dogs set on him (for contrary to all advice from Mr Chamberlayne, that was Mr Wickham's destination after that illuminating visit to his friend)! And then... Then to have another matrimonial prospect, though a less wealthy one, practically forced upon him - however, what Elizabeth Bennet lacked in dowry, she promised to make up for in spirit, judging by the sparks in her eyes - well, that, even by his standards, was quite good sport.

On entering Longbourn, he had found himself expected, and was ushered into the master's room immediately. As Mr Bennet had gone on about settlements and suchlike, Wickham put two and two together. Who else could it possibly be but ol' Dry-bone Darcy who was after Elizabeth Bennet? For it surely hadn't been him, Wickham. He was much too… And he hadn't been imbibing quite so much as would have caused him to forget courting a lady in the dusk!

Well, well, well… Come-uppance indeed seemed to be the word of the day.

“Come, Miss Bennet… Elizabeth!”

He clutched his heart with one hand, and reached for her with another.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, you know.”

A tug at the mattress woke her. Georgiana lifted her head off her brother's bed. It was moments before she fully comprehended where she was or what was happening around her. The shadows of the fire now subdued to a small flame barely emanating any warmth at all, fell upon the room and cast distorted shadows on the walls. The two burning candles in a candelabra on the writing table opposite the window contributed to the effect. Unmistakably, they drew a silhouette of a man above the fireplace.

A cry stopped short in her throat as she was overcome by fright. With a step — two — three she was by the window, feeling the blast of icy air in her face as he opened the window. Embracing her brother round the waist, she whispered, “Come, come, William, get thee to bed,” remotely aware he himself was saying something. The cold on her face blended with oppressing warmth of his feverish frame. His shirt had been drenched through.

“Come, come,” she repeated fearfully, aspiring to achieve by entreaty what she could not with bodily strength of which she was hardly possessed. Another pair of hands was required. She could not hold the invalid, and close the window through which now a cloud of snowflakes was swept in.

William did not hear her; he was not listening. Somebody else should hear her. She cried out.

The door burst open and for a split second, a powerful draught swept through the room and almost blinded Georgiana. Next moment, she felt it subside and heard the windowpanes rattle as they were being shut. Her grip on her brother softened, and she swayed as her legs betrayed her.

A note on the title: There is a Cheshire proverb, “When the daughter is stolen, shut the peppergate.” This is founded on the fact that the mayor of Chester had his daughter stolen as she was playing at ball with other maidens in Pepper Street. The young man who carried her off came through the Pepper-gate, and the mayor wisely ordered the gate to be shut up, agreeable to the old saying, “When the steed is stolen, shut the stable door.” - J. Halliwell, Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words (1855).

Part 17

Posted on Monday, 14 June 2004

In which Mr Bingley finds resolve, which then undergoes severe trials, and the youngest Misses Bennet find something else

She required his support as much as his fever-stricken body needed her backing to propel it back onto the bed. Once relieved of her burden, she lost her balance and found herself prostrate with exhaustion.

“Two sufferers where one is expected? This will not do, Miss Darcy. I refuse to be tricked like that. I prefer my patient quota within limits of reason: one per household shall suffice unless a very bad epidemic sweeps the country, and I see none coming.”

Doctor Bridewell had taken the stairs with the agility which afterwards amazed himself, Forsythe hard at his heels.

Georgiana, who only needed a steady hand rather than any real doctoring, was perfectly in control of her limbs once safely deposited in a chair next to the door. Of her feelings she was less of a mistress and before she had an opportunity to answer the good doctor in a manner corresponding to his jocular reproach, a croaky voice reached her from the bed.

“Is she all right? Georgie, are you all right?”

Of the nature of the scene that followed, suffice it to say that it involved three people brimming over with joy; one expressing it rather more profusely than the other who took refuge in the tasks of his profession, and another, who knew time had come for him to make a soundless exit.

Bingley straightened himself up and proceeded boldly,

“As soon as a suitable occasion arises, I intend to ask Miss Bennet to become my...” - here Bingley's voice faltered somewhat - “...my wife. I expect of you to extend to her every courtesy imaginable, whether she consents to my proposal or not. Though I rather think she is not disinclined...”

It took Charles Bingley a moment or two to compose his thoughts which tended to scatter in the recesses of his mind, especially when all but supplanted by the contemplation of the possibility of his future bliss.

“However, that is a matter solely between Miss Bennet and myself. I shall not have—”

Bingley was astounded at his own daring.

“...any remarks about it pass your lips in her presence. That is…”

Bingley cleared his throat and attempted to mollify his words.

“I would appreciate it very much if you were to abstain yourselves from them.”

By that time, he had rather expected his head to have got acquainted with the celebrated firmness - yet refinement! - of the Hursts' china. No such acquaintance was made. Encouraged by the fact he was apparently to emerge unscathed from the interview, he felt compelled to press his point further whilst he could. What was it again that he had wished to say?

If the serenity of the moment and his position would at all allow it, Mr Bingley would then indubitably opt for a brief yet comforting, if not exactly helpful, scratch on the head above his left ear. As it did not, he resorted to a momentary contemplation of his beloved's infinite superiority. Miraculously, the effect by far surpassed Mr Bingley's expectations. Yes! That was it.

“If consideration for my feelings does not make you approve of my intentions, then remember she is your friend, and as you said on several occasions...”

Mr Bingley at that point reluctantly sustained from shaking his own hand in a congratulatory manner for the precisely same reasons he had previously refrained from scratching his head.

“I seem to recall your words clearly, `A dear sweet girl'. I expect no less from my sisters.”

“He simply walked in?” Mrs Whistler asked for the umpteenth time. For the umpteenth time, Miss Whistler assured her of his having done precisely that.

“Well, well; whatever next? Rosamund, I ask you, whatever next?”

Miss Whistler knew not whether her sister's repeated exclamations were to be regarded in the light of a genuine inquiry, or perhaps Mrs Whistler had merely been underlining her infinite shock at the occasion of one gentleman's brazen attempt of purchasing, well, something.

In the former case, Miss Whistler hardly ventured to speculate as to the extent of profligacy that could be brought about by such behaviour, and in the latter, she knew the best response was none whatsoever, for Mrs Whistler was horrified and appalled to the best of her ability without any assistance.

“Kindly assume a less familiar tone, sir!”

The stages of shock, utter disbelief and finally, disgust, all of them clearly displayed in the animated features of her countenance, had a most unexpected impact on Elizabeth. She was shaken out of the lethargy paralyzing her wits until that moment; an effect occasional bouts of nervousness and uncertainty had hitherto failed to produce.

To expect, and welcome another, only to face the man personifying everything she abhorred in his stead! It brought again before her eyes the sheer scope of her unfortunate prejudice and flawed reasoning. To think she could have been charmed by a Mr Wickham! The superiority of the other could not be more firmly established.

Where was he then? What was Mr Wickham doing there, and why did her father not send him about his business but apparently - Elizabeth's blood froze in her veins - agreed to their marriage?

But all these baffling issues could be resolved presently; first, she had to extricate herself from his embrace. For Mr Wickham, carried on the wings of triumph over the companion of his youth, had manipulated his limbs in a rather possessive manner about her person.

Matters thus having exceeded simple overfamiliarity of address, Elizabeth was accidentally presented with a plausible theory regarding this utterly astonishing behaviour. Other factors in the grotesque chain of events she had hitherto been witness and an unwilling participant, she for the moment ignored but much could be explained by the odour of the gentleman's breath, in which Elizabeth clearly identified eau de cologne, and lurking behind it, the unmistakable aroma of another liquid.

“Sir... Mr Wickham!”

Elizabeth finally disentangled herself from his arms and took refuge behind her father's desk. Never before did she wish as strongly that her family had not been forced to reduce expense wherever possible or that her father had not been the most frugal family member, for a single candlestick would not serve her purpose as well as a five-piece candelabra could.

As far as Mr Bingley was concerned, that day's work had been completed, and with admirable success. His sisters needed to be told, after all, and well, if he had told them some other things, it was nothing they didn't need to hear. Or so he said to himself as he closed the door of the breakfast parlour behind him swiftly and paused to establish whether a rather unfortunate saucer would follow him.

Having ascertained that there were no casualties to report, Charles Bingley marveled at the apparent calmness with which his sisters accepted his speech. He now felt completely at ease and even to a greater degree justified in shaking his own hand than previously. He was about to do so as an over-zealous footman crept upon him. Subsequently, Bingley hastily let go and acted as if his right jacket sleeve was in dire need of vigorous brushing.

All in all, a very satisfactory morning, and one remarkable for the amount of vexatious tasks to have been performed in it.

It suddenly occurred to Mr Bingley that one other person needed be told of his intentions, and his courage, admittedly, wavered to some extent.

He might have been suffering from having indulged to excess, and there may have been other reasons why Mr Wickham was light-headed, nevertheless, he could not fail to discern a certain reluctance on the lady's part to embrace both his person and the opportunity of joining his fate with his.

However little known to him of the nature of this reluctance, Mr Wickham was by no means willing to attribute it to any aversion to himself that was not created by that long-faced spoilsport whose sole purpose in life appeared to be, to spoil his, Wickham's, sport in particular. No such luck this time. Determination gleamed in Mr Wickham's eye as he swung himself over the desk.

“Oh no, you shall not,” were the last words he both heard spoken and spoke. His were uttered in an energetic exchange with Darcy transpiring in his mind, and Elizabeth Bennet's expressed her earnest opposition to being clasped to his bosom afresh.

Darcy!

There was no knowing what line would Darcy take on this matter. Whatever line it would be, Mr Bingley decided, he need not necessarily take it that very day. Better still, what if he was to employ a similar tactics as with Caroline and Louisa?

Mr Bingley saw it for what it was - an admirable scheme, worthy of putting into motion.

Nevertheless… No need to treat one's best friend quite as a family member and spring such decisions on him out of the blue. No. Give Darcy a chance to acclimatize to the idea of being wrong. Quite.

Mr Bingley in his remarkable consideration was prepared to extend the acclimatization period a little. Darcy to be best man. Ring purchased. Darcy pushed into a carriage on the day, a nosegay ready. And before he knew it, it would all be over.

His fidgeting at the prospect of facing his friend would make a pea on a hot shovel blush with envy. One did not simply go and tell Fitzwilliam Darcy he was mistaken, and if one did, it was not one Bingley was acquainted with. But what is not done in the name of love! Just as he had nearly summoned the nervous courage to proceed to Park Lane and perform the unspeakable, a new argument presented itself to Charles Bingley, in the light of which a stop in Gracechurch Street was particularly desirable.

It was not, after all, entirely improbable that the bride-to-be would wish to be apprised of the developments.

Only the regard for her sister's feelings prevented Caroline Bingley's hurt pride to seek compensation for the wounds inflicted by her brother's babble by means of supplying an item of Mrs Hurst's tea service with the opportunity to exhibit its stealth - yet refinement! - against the skull of her brother's head.

Miss Bingley was now more piqued by Mr Darcy's absenteeism than ever. Then it dawned on her, with remarkable clarity, that if the mountain, that is, Mr Darcy, would not come to her, she might go to the mountain. Although perhaps, none such metaphor was used by Miss Bingley, for any mention of mountains or herself going anywhere near them was unlikely. For Caroline Bingley, mountains were indistinguishable shapes on the horizon, and there they were perfectly at leave to remain. Mr Darcy's whereabouts, however, she was determined to get on top of.

“Aaaaaaaaa-aaaa!”

With this rather inarticulate exclamation, originating from its ground floor, the Bennet residence was delivered of the uncharacteristic silence which had prevailed in it the entire morning. It was as if the household had waited only for that very signal to explode into its customary bustle.

Lydia and Kitty, never discouraged from leaving the house, had thought that morning a second Christmas had descended upon Longbourn, for Mr Bennet presented each with some ready money, correctly presuming they would go out of the way to spend it all that very day. And so they did; after a thorough search of each other's wardrobe, they decided that the acquisition of a yard or two of ribbon was essential.

As Kitty knew very well that Lydia would try and borrow money from her to purchase two yards of her own choosing, she decided to call on Maria Lucas and more or less bully her into either herself being the lender, or at least into being a reinforcement to her opposition to Lydia lest she should have her way.

Their day indeed turned out as Kitty had expected, and the two sisters, now each possessed of her yard of ribbon, and swearing by those very ribbons they should never go shopping again in each other's company as long as they both lived, burst into their family home.

The library door was ajar. This was an extraordinary enough occurrence in itself, rendering it wholly impossible for the two youngest Bennets not to steal a peak at the habitually inaccessible retreat of their father's. And what they encountered there made them forget the ribbons for as long as a quarter of an hour together.

Lying on the floor face down was a man! A man in a red coat!

Gracechurch Street indeed proved welcoming. Even the fog fled when it observed Mr Bingley's enthusiasm; for when he arrived to the area that exposed a disturbing gap in his sisters' education, a clear winter sky hailed him. Mr Bingley could not but be strengthened in his conviction that Gracechurch Street had been a good choice of a destination for a call as surely Park Lane would have sprung bitter cold and cutting wind on him.

Regretfully, Miss Bennet was out. She went to the park with the Misses Gardiner. Will the gentleman...?

The gentleman would like to run after her in his zeal and lay his heart - and, given the state of the roads, more likely his entire self, perchance not even in one piece - at her feet at once. Still, the name Gardiner reached his hearing organ through the haze of his passion and he did. Express his wish to wait, that is.

Mrs Gardiner gave him a warm welcome, and did not betray any wonder at the gentleman's expeditious reappearance in her home after she had given him a wholesome dinner the night before. She merely expressed her delight at seeing Mr Bingley so soon again. This struck the gentleman precisely in the manner in which it had not been intended.

In his fervent state of mind a fortnight might have passed since the charming evening at the Gardiners'. Mr Bingley recollected his visit might be viewed as unusual. This confused him as his resolve had already been tried severely that day; it practically melted away in face of potential disapproval from the quarter where approbation would have been far more desirable.

“Err... Yes. I thank you for your hospitality, madam. It was most kind of you to accept me so... kindly,” he stuttered.

The straightforward approach, which bore such satisfactory result with his sisters, was hardly befitting this situation. Exasperated, Mr Bingley directed his glance through the window as though the key to his dilemma might have become visible on the horizon. Instead, the sky seemed to close over him.

Being completely unpossessed of aunts of any description - a trait not entirely unattractive in a young man, but leaving Mr Bingley sadly handicapped in the predicament in which he found himself - he naturally was in no position to know that aunts tended to startle people and that in doing so, did not necessarily restrict themselves to their nephews or nieces. If Mr Bingley had had an aunt, this indeed might have prepared him somewhat for what was to follow.

“I take it you have come to see my niece, Mr Bingley.”

Mr Bingley owned that it was indeed so, rejoicing at this turn in conversation.

“Any… particular occasion for your visit?”

Mr Bingley's stutter now returned with full force. He stood in awe of Mrs Gardiner's perceptiveness and was stupefied by the absurd transparency of his own intentions.

“You are not by any chance leaving Town within hours, are you, sir?”

Before Mr Bingley's vocal organ had time to recover, Mrs Gardiner added,

“You seemed so fond of the country when we discussed it last night. Though you did not always cherish Hertfordshire as much as you do now. You left it rather abruptly in November, I believe?”

Elizabeth, too, was acutely aware of the presence of a red-coated man on the floor of her father's library. Perhaps this was, in her case, brought about by the fact that she had not fled the said room before she had a chance to observe how reliable her hand was.

The absurdity of her situation struck her anew. It would indeed be most amusing, if one had read about it, granted, but to be in midst of such peculiar goings-on did not impress her as particularly entertaining. Most of all, she was shaken not by the absence of Mr Darcy, not by the appearance of Mr Wickham, but by her father's willingness to give credence to whatever tale the latter had woven. If he believed her capable of that...

Elizabeth stopped short in her tracks. Before that morning, her father gave her no reason to suppose she had sunk considerably in his opinion as well. When and how did it happen then? Had Mr Wickham intercepted her father's note? Why did Matthews let him?

Clenching fists as if grabbing the unreliable servant by the collar of his jacket, Elizabeth had a good mind to head straight for the kitchen where the culprit, she believed, was to be found. But as abruptly as it occurred to her, the thought was dismissed.

Matthews was not the quickest of men, and Mr Wickham might have got the better of him by some trick or other. Likewise, she found it prudent not to draw any unnecessary attention to Mr Darcy's name and person. If he had not received the note - as disagreeable the thought of it was, she nevertheless could not dismiss the possibility of it - then nobody need know it ever existed. If he had, on the other hand...

That the gentleman's position was horizontal and his manner rather inert, did not discourage the youngest Misses Bennet in the least. Even before giving consideration to methods to be applied in order to re-establish the gentleman's verticality, the two ladies thought it imperative his identity be ascertained lest they should at length discover themselves assisting one of the less worthy gentlemen of the regiment. They were soon gratified in their efforts by a resounding groan.

The vagaries of English weather would not be able to capture Mr Bingley's attention at that particular moment under any circumstances. The iciest of hailstorms might have been unleashed right above his head, he would not have noticed it nor would it succeed in removing from his cheek the crimson glow which Mrs Gardiner's words occasioned.

The air of decisiveness about him so clearly discernible earlier that day had quite vanished. He had the air of a guilty man. His hasty departure from Hertfordshire indeed could be interpreted as a sign of lack of just appreciation of Miss Bennet - a dreadful thought in itself - or worse.

The phrase libertine behaviour could indeed come to mind. Bingley acknowledged that, as much as his friend was in the wrong, he was himself to blame for acting against his fondest wishes. What remained was the hope that his actions had brought pain only to himself, though this was unlikely if Miss Bennet's feelings were such as he wished them to be.

These musings were swept aside by a more immediate concern; that was, how precisely he was to communicate his regret to Mrs Gardiner - unfurrow her brow, as it were - in the small amount of time he hoped there remained before Miss Bennet's return.

If Mrs Gardiner's brow had been furrowed upon closer examination, the unforrowing of it would be a task for a man with a Saint-George-like disposition; but though an aunt of formidable discernment, we would not wish to compare Mrs Gardiner to a dragon.

As it was, the word libertine had not occurred to Mrs Gardiner to be the correct word to describe the visitor's behaviour toward her niece. The word she did have on tip of her tongue, which defined it perfectly, began with a `sh', and she had, also in the fair reader's presence, observed it to be a worrying trend among young gentlemen. However, this young gentleman was on a very good way to mend his ways. It was, Mrs Gardiner concluded, her duty to support and aid him.

“Papa!”

Mr Bennet recognized his second daughter under the layers of wool that were approaching him over the frost-covered lawn where he repaired in an attempt to assure she and Mr Wickham would have some privacy which was hard to come by at Longbourn. This commendable intention had been further encouraged by the disturbance the events of that day had caused to Mr Bennet's customary equilibrium. It was for the same reason he quite failed to discern the reproachful tone in Elizabeth's voice.

“Papa, how could you - how did he persuade you that I intended to marry him?”

Part 17b

In which Elizabeth finds herself at the heart, and Mrs Phillips at the lung of the scandal, Misses Gardiner discover snow, and one gentleman re-discovers the delights of monologue

Jane Bennet left 48, Gracechurch Street that morning to accompany her cousin in the quest for the remains of the snow which London had been endowed with the previous night. The carriages and footsteps had long obliterated it, most unfortunately, from the street surface, but Anne was very hopeful regarding the park.

Little Sophy wailed ruthlessly upon hearing news of this quest, for she was barred from it on account of having a cold. She felt the injustice of it and had been expressing her deprivation most vehemently the entire morning. This strain on her vocal chords could not and indeed did not go unnoticed by any member of the household, least of all by Sophy's cousin.

But what could, given the soluble nature of the snow, be done? Perhaps… Perhaps there was some snow left on the roof?

The accessibility of the latter strongly put into question, a glance at Mary, the maid, revealed the solution to both the aunt and the niece simultaneously. Minutes later, Sophy was delivered with a handful of snow in the nursery. A part of the roof hosting a meager patch of whiteness proved to be reachable through the window of the maid's chamber, though the operation was somewhat precarious.

Sophy was appeased, although she thought in private that snow was not worth the fuss, as it was only white water with which one could not comfortably play. But as she found herself in superior position over her elder sister who was yet obliged to go out in the cold and look for it, she was well satisfied and kissed her cousin with earnest gratitude.

Anne, on the other hand, was convinced that a little pursuit made an all the worthier cause, and so to the park the two young ladies went, and were successful. And snow, was discovered, could not merely be touched, tasted, or shaped into missiles and hurled; no, it was found absolutely vital that it be shared thoroughly not only with one's company but also with one's clothing!

Consequently, Jane Bennet, when she reappeared on the doorstep of her uncle's home, did so in a pleasant state of wetness. On her curls, rather less impeccably coiffed than before she ventured outside, the proof of Anne's steady hand - which apparently ran down the female line in this family - lingered and glistened. Her face shone with the success of a triumphant explorer, and her cheek was flushed with the change of temperature.

It is truly remarkable to what extent a well-aimed blow can contribute to clearing a man's head. The relative lightness of the latter consequently presented itself as a mere trifle, especially in view of the comfort he was likely to derive from the attendance of two giggling young ladies, none of which was his candlestick-propelling intended spouse.

Mr Wickham reflected that in this light, it would perhaps be advisable to take his matrimonial plans under some consideration.

Mr Bennet was constantly finding himself unprepared for whatever news or information was sprung upon him. The conversation he found himself taking part in at present moment proved no exception in this respect. The only conviction that persisted clear in his mind, very probably for the reason that it was the sole one in accordance with everything he took as read, was that his daughter was not to become Mrs Wickham.

Further than that, his mind did not venture, being too occupied by restoring the foundations of Mr Bennet's world - a world in which officers were not prospective son-in-laws but individuals of gaudy dress sense and unconstrained manner, best to be kept at a distance.

Still, a voice belonging to his daughter Elizabeth did not fail to rouse him.

“Papa, how could you - how did he persuade you that I intended to marry him?”

He rather wondered of that himself. How could he, with all his knowledge of his daughter's character, be so quick to believe the worst? Or to contemplate it even conceivable? Mr Bennet was not particularly proud of himself.

He took Elizabeth by her hands and said,

“Do you know, Lizzy, it appears to me now that I was doing whatever was done by way of persuasion? He hardly said a word.”

Mr Bennet recollected Wickham's countenance.

`It is as settled as far it can be settled, sir.'

As if manna from heaven had fallen straight into his arms.

Which did not strike Mr Bennet as a misplaced feeling at the time, as he privately considered his second eldest but little short of this description. But now…

`May I be permitted a few words in private with Miss Elizabeth, sir? In present situation…'

`Present situation my foot! You shall stay here, sir, and explain yourself!'

This was what he should have said, he knew that now; but he did not, and now he must look into his daughter's eyes and demand an explanation of her.

“I… I… It was an act of a coward. I have regretted it these past three months, and especially since it has been my good fortune to meet Miss Bennet again, and what with being so kindly received…”

He stumbled down the list of his blunders in a characteristically erratic order. Not trusting his own judgement - Darcy never known to be wrong - unworthy of her affection, nay, her notice! - convinced trying for her hand was fruitless!

Mrs Gardiner nodded sympathetically throughout this flood of self-accusation and remorse. Amongst all exclamations the one bearing on Mr Darcy's infallibility baffled her momentarily, yet even an aunt cannot be expected to tackle two young men at once. So gradually, she endeavoured to steer the one present towards the statement of the obvious.

“In short, Madam, nothing could contribute to my happiness further if Miss Bennet would consent to unite her future—”

The statement could not have come at a better moment.

“Mamma, we found it - look!”

Anne could not but share the pleasure of the snow with her mother of whom she caught a glimpse between the parlour door and Cousin Jane's back. This was her chance to exhibit!

Her triumph was about to be considerably increased by the approval of the nice gentleman who had been to dinner the previous night, and was considered particularly welcome at that moment in the light of her exploits.

Her shawl spread out on her lower arms, and these stretched out in front of her, she slipped past her cousin and ran towards Mrs Gardiner.

It all happened in a flash. Before she knew it, Anne was led to the nursery by her mother's firm hand, for her clothes were very wet and she needed changing. It did no good to point out Cousin Jane's were much wetter - Mamma only said that Cousin Jane was not likely to catch cold on this day of all days.

Anne really could not see why not.

Mrs Gardiner was led in her actions not merely by the concern for her child's welfare but also, as may be surmised, by an earnest desire to contribute to the welfare of the two occupants of her parlour.

They stood still for a moment; as if transformed miraculously into a more solid variety of what existed in traces on Miss Bennet's hair and shawl - but that was soon over.

Namely, it occurred to Mr Bingley that he would do very well to repeat the sentence he failed to finish just as its primary addressee suddenly appeared - with a slight substitute of the very formal `Miss Bennet' with a rather more personal `you'.

And when moments later, he was addressing her merely as Jane, she did not protest, and as Mrs Gardiner anticipated, she did not feel the dampness of her attire.

An ointment was applied to the patient's chest, whereupon the latter was enclosed in a protective cocoon of several towels, which had been previously warmed by the fire. The fever had not broken, but as not much time had passed since the onset of the disease, Dr Bridewell was disposed to take a favourable view of the progress. His concern for Mr Darcy's lung was by no means diminished but the following day or two should indicate whether it was justified. Until then, all was to be done to make the patient comfortable.

In this, he had a strong ally. Georgiana had taken fright that afternoon - judging by what she saw, her brother had been on the verge of flinging himself through the window! She blamed it on the fever, especially as William could not remember the incident at all. Furthermore, for him the incident was her falling down - he had been most anxious on her behalf.

If it would bring her brother permanently from the obscurity of semi-consciousness, Georgiana was ready and willing to yield to the principle of gravity as often as needed. However, as Darcy again drifted into sleep after regaining the grasp on his immediate surroundings and being assured repeatedly of his sister's well-being, no immediate sacrifice of this kind was called for.

“Shall I get you some tea?”

“Tea? Tea? What are you thinking?”

Kitty, who was thinking of nothing but of alleviating the gentleman's suffering, did not comprehend that she had gone about it the wrong way. Her sister's eyes flashed.

Who would have thought of suggesting tea in such circumstances? When did tea do a man any good?

“Well… Perhaps…”

Mr Wickham really did not care for any refreshment, especially not for one which would potentially effect a prolonged stay at Longbourn. In that respect, he was inclined to agree with Miss Lydia; tea would not do him any good. The prospect of it being served into his lap made him confident of it. He nevertheless mustered the presence of mind to thank Miss Kitty just before she fled the room in what could rightfully be called `a state'.

“You always know best, don't you, don't you? Never mind I am older and have more experience as a hostess,” - at which her younger sister smirked. “No, you are always right, are you? Well, do as you please, and see if I care!”

Mr Wickham therefore found himself in the sole care of the youngest Miss Bennet.

James's exasperation grew by the minute. It was bad enough he had to go and answer the door, but to see Miss Bingley on the threshold had the suggestion of a cataclysm about it. Once she was on the same side of the door as he - which was brought about not as much by his inviting her to do so as with her inviting herself - the suggestion was dangerously near to an actuality.

“Oh, do not persist in these absurd statements! Of course she is at home, where else would she be? Do not say they have gone visiting - it is not their day!”

Miss Bingley would not be deterred from entering the house, and once in it, she would not move lest her eye caught glimpse of a Darcy.

As it happened, both the footman and Miss Bingley were in luck.

“Lizzy, shall we go inside? And then, perhaps…”

He was unable to complete this particular sentence. He started afresh.

“Forgive an old man who's had too much excitement in one day. How did all this come about? For my dear, I hardly know what to think.”

He examined his daughter's face closely. Her eyes were red, but this may be attributed to the unsettling wind, which battered them as they stood in the garden.

All in all, her behaviour was essentially identical to the one which had baffled him that very morning during the highly embarrassing exchange, or rather, soliloquy of his in the library. But his comportment now was much less hurried, and uneasy; he would not draw hasty conclusions. He could hardly bear looking at her before; now he did not shrink from scrutinizing her freely as was his wont.

“I knew it - my dear, this…”

Miss Bingley threw a glance at the rapidly retreating footman, searching for a term capable of replacing `wretch of a creature', which was hardly appropriate, settling finally on…

“… man kept insisting you were not at home. Preposterous, as if you would deny yourself to me!”

Georgiana smiled feebly and greeted Caroline Bingley.

That she had things to tell was evident. Mr Bennet braced himself best as he could, and again suggested retreating into the house.

“I am not likely to enter the house again whilst Mr Wickham is in it, Papa.”

It again fell to Mr Bennet's lot to be astonished.

“But, Lizzy - I do not understand. Have you not sent him away?”

“Not in so many words. I was nevertheless clear in advising him that neither his present company nor his… proclaimed affections were wanted. Unfortunately, after I had made my communication, he was… Unable to relieve me of his presence.”

Mr Bennet was subsequently brought abreast of the burden the carpet in his library bore.

How was she to explain to her father something she hardly understood herself? How much could she reveal, to what could she commit herself, without communicating to her father the story of her dealings with Mr Darcy?

It disgusted her to think she had defended to his face the very same who stooped to such obvious violation of dignity and propriety.

`Obvious, yes! It took much for me to perceive it as such!'

She folded her arms on her chest, stroking her upper arms as she did so, as if in an effort to expunge both the memory and the fact of Wickham's touch.

“Ill?”

“Yes, Miss Bingley, I am afraid so.”

“But he was in perfect health the last time I saw him! Ill! Well!”

Miss Bingley did not expect this to betide her. Absence, aloofness or complete disregard of her person she could and would deal with, but disease was something she did not anticipate.

Briefly, before her eyes unfolded the picture of herself as a watchful bedside attendant but this was naturally impracticable. Not only was it out of the question on account of propriety - but Miss Bingley of the mental image was not a Miss Bingley but a Mrs Darcy in any case; her imagination was of an exceptionally rapid kind. There was another obstacle, however. Illness in any form, to Miss Bingley's mind, could not be associated with the companion of her life.

“I suppose he could not help it.”

Her attitude made it increasingly difficult for Georgiana to provide any kind of response. Pointing out that her brother certainly did not choose to fall ill would hardly do, so she kept silent. Which was all very well with Miss Bingley, as the notion of her bedside attendance in the role of Mrs Darcy persisted to raid her mind.

It was only in this light that any kind of physical infirmity in Mr Darcy would not be viewed by Miss Bingley as her bęte noire.

Did a door in this house ever open in a manner suited to one of its kind?

By contemplating thus the supposed proper behaviour in a door, Mr Wickham very probably had in mind how welcome it would have been if the opening of one would prove in some way announced, or expected. If the door in question had behaved in the manner he had trusted it would, he perhaps would not have flinched, and his right hand would not have jerked and attempted to assume the appearance of casual, innocuous manner.

Be it as it may, any such performance would have been lost on Mr Bennet. Claiming right on his favourite daughter had not sufficed to this pitiable excuse for a man - no! He had the presumption to behave in a very familiar way to his youngest as well!

For Lydia, who had just left her position on the right arm of the armchair with a squeal of fright, had indeed been subjected to Mr Wickham's customary lack of reserve with good-humoured young ladies. His recent unfavourable experience with a lady notable for lack of warmth towards his person only added to the latter.

Mr Bennet was, to say the least, nonplussed, but reacted quickly. Lydia was told to go upstairs and stay there until she was called down. Mr Wickham looked as if he wished his fate were to prove similar, and Mr Bennet would have liked nothing better. But his non-intervention had gone on for long enough. So he raised his voice and let the offending individual before him know he had realized what he was about, wishing profoundly at the same time this were true down to the very last detail.

Nevertheless, Mr Bennet compensated for in resolve what he lacked in information, and Mr Wickham was seen leaving Longbourn that afternoon with his tail between his legs, as it were.

Two days later

Mrs Phillips was in a state of gloom. Even her daily talk with her cook had become a chore, and that said plenty, for Mrs Phillips had hitherto derived considerable pleasure from the conference. Quite the reverse could be said of the cook's attitude towards these talks - her sturdy frame positively shook, first with distinct aversion to enter what Mrs Phillips called `morning room', and which transformed itself miraculously into a parlour when visitors arrived, and upon closing the door of this marvel of a room after the interview, the cook's ample cheeks would wobble with ill-suppressed rage and she would mutter into her chin how she would not bear another day in a house where her work was continually exposed to suspicion and scrutiny.

However, the past few days even Evelyn the cook had breathed more freely, as Mrs Phillips's sails had been robbed of wind. She said not a word of the poultry, which seemed to have fled the larder instead of resting there in peace, and offered no advice how the consumption of ale in the kitchen should be reduced to an acceptable amount, which would ideally limit to zero.

Mrs Phillips might have succeeded in showing a brave face outside her home, she might have wondered at her sister Fanny's liberal upbringing of her offspring…

“I would not breathe a word against my sister, madam, but if I recall how often I told her, `A girl's reputation is more than her fortune, and your girls have no fortune, my dear'! But did she listen? Did she pay any heed to my warnings? No!”

Such were Mrs Philips's litanies, but did they bring her the favour of that pillar of virtue, Mrs Constance Flowerdew?

Alas, they did not. Mrs Flowerdew listened to Mrs Phillips's emissaries - for truth be told, the fact they could reach Mrs Flowerdew and she could not, was the only reason behind Mrs Phillips being even willing to enter upon the distressing subject. Mrs Flowerdew listened, and occasionally, she would even nod, but not a word escaped her.

Mrs Phillips thus could not make it known to the highest moral authority how she, too, as every other inhabitant of Meryton, had deeply distrusted Mr Wickham's motives behind his courtship of Miss King, and how peculiar she had found the fact that her niece Elizabeth took it so lightly. By now of course, the entire Meryton knew what she had suspected, no, comprehended long ago, namely, that it was all smoke in the eye of Mr Bennet, who would have never consented to the marriage. Elopement was a word Mrs Phillips would never let pass her lips - but her friends were obliging enough to let it pass theirs instead.

Nevertheless, this distressing situation did not leave Mrs Phillips utterly destitute. She might not be admitted into the sanctum of chastity that was the Flowerdew residence, but she had a ready enough welcome elsewhere, especially as she was practically the only one - but for those thoughtlessly compassionate Lucases - whose right and duty was to visit the home of the trespasser.

Their conversation appeared in his mind as if his memory had been taken away from him, and he had but vague clues as to how the few remaining pieces of the puzzle fitted together. As by rule, the pieces at hand appeared to be minuscule and sharp about the edges.

`One who has treated one's childhood friend so abominably…'

His cheek burned as he recollected her tone and the pang in his chest, for once, stemmed not from his illness.

`…could hardly be expected to shrink from hurting one who is but common acquaintance to him -'

There is a fine motive to have attributed to one's actions. But little else is to be expected of one as unscrupulous as I, I suppose!

His anger with her - how could she deem him capable of such falsehood? - blended with the same feeling regarding himself. In fact, the latter has rapidly been becoming much more prominent, and to such an extent that it soon utterly obliterated any memory of the former's existence.

His reflections on the abrupt visit to Hertfordshire and its conclusion gradually swerved into the direction of scrutiny of his own behaviour.

Wickham had influenced her considerably, but for such an intelligent woman to give credence to so finely spun a yarn, took slightly more than charme - at this point, Mr Darcy ground his teeth so forcefully as to thoroughly alarm Mr Forsythe who was at that very moment unfolding a crispy fresh shirt for his master to change into.

If that fellow's abuse of his jaw is considered `charmant', then `charme' is as overrated as I had always suspected.

It was true, he reflected, that in her company his own ability to make himself agreeable had been even more modest than in other circumstances.

Make myself agreeable! I might as well perform as Jack-in-the-box. More successfully too, I should not wonder.

He did manage, once or twice, to present himself to some advantage at least. As for the remainder of the occasions they were in each other's company…

Better to be forgotten. No, not that. Not dwelling on them should do.

There was, of course, their first meeting.

Intensely mortifying. Also, quite possibly the most remarkable demonstration of the heights human idiocy can reach. Followed closely by the verdict of `unattached' in the Bennet-Bingley case.

`… common in more than one aspect, in your opinion, I dare say, Mr Darcy!'

At this, he was as dumbfounded as at that moment in a Hertfordshire lane when he heard her say it.

The mere word, common, allegedly attributed to her sister, and as such, associated with Elizabeth herself, Darcy would never use. Naturally, the connection between the term and her own person was absurd - as he had stated, he thought, plainly. However…

There are people amongst my close acquaintance who would have thought it a remarkably accurate portrayal of the family… Confound them!

He bit his lip in bitter recollection that he perhaps would have had to face more than an amused smirk or two from people he did not really care about. They, after all, could be glared into keeping their disapproval to themselves. This could hardly be the case with his Aunt de Bourgh. Lady Catherine, after all, was very well versed in being on the giving side of a benumbing glare.

What good it did, pondering on and bracing himself for his Aunt's reaction, when it was clear enough that her ladyship would have no occasion to disapprove of a prospective niece?

She made that very evident.

Should he be surprised? He winced at the thought.

Should I? Ultimately, I had ruined the chance of her sister's happiness, sabotaged the prospects of a man whom she - he halted - held in her esteem, and nicely rounded my doings by the censure of her entire family.
And yet…

She could have sent him away at any moment that afternoon four days ago. She did not. She stayed and listened to him.

Whatever the implication, what am I in position to do about it?

It hardly mattered what her feelings for him were after that singular interview, for he was strictly forbidden to leave his bed for another fortnight, and after that, as Dr Bridewell said privately,

`No gallivanting all bedraggled on horseback for you, my lad, for a while! Whatever or whoever may your woe be, you shall stay put and be waited upon. It will as soon as find you, or at the very least linger about until you are well again.'

Mr Darcy considered the case in the exactly opposite light. He was perfectly fine, at the very least strong enough to take care of his affairs.

Or rather, the doctor surmised that his affairs were what Mr Darcy was capable of attending to, for hacking cough, Mr Darcy's faithful companion ever since he and fever had parted ways to mutual satisfaction, deterred him from concluding the sentence.

Dr Bridewell remained unmoved. Did Mr Darcy wish to make a full recovery? Then Mr Darcy would stay confined to his bed.

I am not even allowed to recline elegantly on a sofa and make a proper nuisance of myself to all. Instead, I am to pester but the chosen few.

“But - my letters?”

Dr Bridewell eyed his patient questioningly. Surely one could read lying down?

“I meant writing them,” Darcy croaked gruffly.

Another such perfectly sensible question and I shall be proclaimed in compos mentis.

“I see. You really should not strain your chest by sitting up, sir. It would not do. Miss Darcy will be delighted to be of service there, I am sure.”

Somehow, that was not precisely what Mr Darcy had in mind.

Part 18 ~ Trials and Tribulations

Posted on Saturday, 31 December 2005

In which our heroes and heroines face plenty of both and of various kinds, but Author holds that the sight Colonel Fitzwilliam faces in Darcy's sickchamber is the severest trial of them all

A soft knock was to be heard on the door, and Georgiana followed it, on tiptoe.

“How—”

The question was made redundant by the sight of her brother sitting up in his bed, with pen in his hand.

“William, Dr Bridewell distinctly said—”

“I feel exceptionally well today. Tell me, was that not a familiar voice I heard downstairs?”

Georgiana admitted that Miss Bingley had called, but Darcy's rather automatic inquiry into Miss Bingley's health produced little response from her. She wrung her hands nervously and said, amidst half-hearted smiles, that Miss Bingley had brought some truly interesting news.

“Yes? What is it?”

Mr Darcy obediently assumed precisely the beneficial position that his physician had recommended.

“It seems … It seems … That is, Miss Bingley thinks, that is, she said she thought her brother was to be married.”

There. The truth was out, and Georgiana hoped she had played the role of the messenger adequately even though she failed to report Miss Bingley's exact words on parting, said with the tone of doom,

“Tell Mr Darcy he must do something quickly!”

For what could possibly William have done? It was no concern of his, after all, if Mr Bingley wished to marry Miss Bennet. Georgiana had ventured to say that both she and her brother would do anything in their power to assist their friends at such a happy occasion. Somehow, it had not been the reaction Miss Bingley had wished for, that much she could tell, and also that she had relied on Mr Darcy to see the matter differently. But on this point, if any, Georgiana was firm. Her brother was convalescent, and that was it.

“She seemed convinced that you, I, all of us, opposed the marriage and thought me a great simpleton when I desired her to wish Mr Bingley happy.” Georgiana's colour heightened when she continued,

“She seemed to have been labouring under a misapprehension that I had some immediate interest in the matter. I assure you, William, the thought of my future being in any way connected with Mr Bingley's had never crossed my mind. If it did yours, I am sorry, but I am certain that you would always consider my wishes in the matter. I can see no other argument why you should oppose the marriage, so I thought it best to tell you this outright.”

“Lizzy, I have been looking for you. I wanted to share the good news with you first, and I'd have it much rather if you were the one to announce it to your mother.”

Mr Bennet's head appeared in the doorway of the dry room. In the hand that followed the head thither, something flashed.

Unmistakably, it was a sheet of paper, into which the sunlight had caught.

“You seem very conscious, Elizabeth. We shall tackle you presently,” said Mr Bennet with a twinkle in his eye. “Worry not. This letter is from Mr Bingley. He begs the honour of soliciting my eldest daughter's hand in marriage. Very pretty. Only, from what I gather from my eldest daughter's missive—”

Mr Bennet fumbled in the pocket of his coat and produced the said missive, his face by now bearing a broad grin,

“He had already solicited it, and not only that, but had been accepted as well!”

“Oh!” Elizabeth stretched out her hand.

“A thorough report follows as soon as may be. By letter or in person I hardly know, for your sister has informed me that she would wish you to assist her in choosing her wedding clothes, a wish in which she is vehemently supported by your Aunt Gardiner, who has deemed it necessary to write to me as well. I wonder the post has time for anything else to do but to deliver to Longbourn! Well, well, child, what is it?”

Elizabeth's hands flew to her flushed cheeks.

“Oh, Papa! He asked her! He asked her! That means he gave his consent!”

This rather puzzling remark caused Mr Bennet lift his eyebrows to a substantial height. To the best of his knowledge, the elder Mr Bingley had been dead for several years. But being in such good mood and unwillingly amused by the shower of letters, he let it pass and squeezed his daughter's hand affectionately.

“Jane is a good girl and she deserves to be happy. I see London did the trick, as your mother predicted. As she will perceive it as her personal triumph, I would appreciate if you would take the role of the messenger on yourself. Oh, but what am I thinking? Your Mamma must have had a letter too!”

“Oh, before you go, Elizabeth…” Mr Bennet's smile persisted as he said,

“This news will undoubtedly cast that other affair in the shade. I am thus all the happier for Jane and yourself. It will take people's minds off that sad business, and yours, too, I dare say. That's good, that's excellent. Now run along and tell your mother, do. And please close all the doors behind you.”

“You want me to go to Hertfordshire? Now?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, on whom the dust of the road would have stuck still if it were not for his excellent valet, who had brushed his master's coat, mourning the fact that the Colonel's cousin was, according to reports, greatly ill, so ill that the normal mode of life - that is, that one should bathe and change when having traveled for a whole day, not to mention rest - should be suspended, this same Colonel Fitzwilliam was admittedly a little surprised when he found out that nothing but do for him but to travel some more.

“Oh, not now!” Darcy waved his hand impatiently. “Well, yes, now.”

“May I merely inquire, cousin - the flushed cheek, the look of acute misery, the fine attempt at ambiguity ... Should I send for the good doctor or are these symptoms of quite another disease? A terminal one, perhaps?”

“Send for the chaise or I shall get up and then you shall see if your diagnosis holds water, Fitzwilliam!”

The Colonel retreated towards the door.

“Please, Darcy - any other threat would do! The mere thought of the sight of you in your nightshirt would compel me to do anything!”

Mr Darcy produced a sound very much akin to hissing and made a swift move towards his bedside.

“Anything, I said!” the Colonel ventured, opening the door and seeking refuge behind them. “Of course what I meant was that it would compel me to forget my good breeding and laugh in your face—”

At that moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam was indeed compelled to close the door by way of protection, for the water jug had apparently decided on a hasty retreat from the sickchamber likewise, aided greatly in its intent by a half-laughing, half-coughing Mr Darcy.

“A gentleman to see you, sir. A Colonel Fitzwilliam. Here is his card.”

Hill retreated backwards as if she expected a gunpowder explosion.

“I thought we were through with red coats in this house!”

Mr Bennet looked at the card. Surely enough, it read:

The Hon. Richard Fitzwilliam
Colonel, 13th Regiment, HM ------
34, Grosvenor Sq.
London

Mr Bennet turned the card backwards and forwards hastily, as if expecting the identity of its holder to become more familiar to him. He did not, however, fail to notice the title and the address, which, much to his annoyance, had partly achieved what he could only presume to have been the desired effect.

On turning the card, he at first managed to ignore the handwritten line on the back, but then his eye caught it and he read,

“`On Mr Darcy's request re. yr letter of a fortnight ago'”

“What letter? What is this fellow about? I have never sent Mr Darcy a letter in my life! What is this? This world has gone mad, clearly. Elizabeth, we shall have to find a lone island somewhere and emigrate. Never mind Donne, we shall be an island. The world must have been in better order back in Donne's days! If it's not wedding clothes, it's letters one has never written! If this is one of your sisters' jests, I swear I will bequeath them nothing but their old treehouse.”

Mr Bennet was struck at the amount of wholly unpredictable events in his life. What Colonel ? What letter ? What, in Lord's name, was this?

He posed a few rhetorical questions to the bookshelves in his library - for lack of an interlocutor, he had to satisfy with those, for his second eldest daughter had excused herself and darted out of the library. Once again, the circumstances prevented Elizabeth's father to notice and comment on her odd behaviour.

“Good afternoon, sir. I beg your pardon for intruding. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service. I am Mr Darcy's cousin. My cousin is presently recovering from an illness at his house in London and is quite unable to travel. He was extremely desirous to speak to you himself, or answer your letter, but as he feels the matter is urgent, he has asked me to come to Hertfordshire. He did present me with this, however.”

The Colonel stretched out his hand. There was a sealed envelope in it, and it took Mr Bennet several moments to do what was expected of him.

“Excuse me,” said the Colonel, and moved towards the door.

“Please,” Mr Bennet recollected himself as he viewed the seal. “Do not leave. I conclude you are familiar with the contents of this letter?”

The Colonel nodded, “In essentials, yes.”

“This letter is the answer to the note I wrote to Mr Darcy three weeks ago?”

“I understand it to be so, sir, yes. Furthermore, I think that my cousin also enclosed the note itself to establish my credentials. After all,” the Colonel smiled, “you have never heard of me. I might be yet another adventurer in a red coat.”

Mr Bennet's hand trembled a little on hearing this rational argument. It persisted with such behaviour as he broke the seal and opened the envelope. Folded inside was indeed a note. Addressed, as clearly as can be, to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., to which was then added in firm, large hand, another direction, 28 Park Lane, London.

The second handwriting was wholly unfamiliar to Mr Bennet, but the first hand he would know anywhere. He had had little pieces of paper, covered in a line or two in this very hand pushed beneath the door into the library late at night, since as long as the hand in question had come to learn its way about with a pen. The first missive of that kind, disposed of safely in his desk, among many others, had been, “`A little alarm now and then keeps life from stagnation.' Remember that, Papa, when you say we are screeching.” Elizabeth wrote the note, years ago.

So the inevitable conclusion was, whomever he thought he was writing to, she was writing to Mr Darcy.

London, February 17, 1812

Dear Sir,

I apologize for my late answer to your letter. I have been ill, as my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam will have told you, and unable to attend to my correspondence, or I would have immediately sent you a reply. There would have been some delay, nevertheless, as Miss Elizabeth understandably supposed I would be staying at the Meryton inn. As it happened, I was staying at Colonel Forster's house and it took some time before the letter was forwarded.

I cannot pretend I do not understand what you had the intention of communicating to me, sir. Your daughter has undoubtedly explained my share in the matter to you. I am indeed guilty of gross misjudgment and misbehaviour, and must beg your forgiveness and the forgiveness of everybody concerned. I can only say in my defense what I have already said to Miss Elizabeth Bennet: my actions were brought about by the fact I was unaware of Miss Bennet's feelings. Last few weeks have made me realize the depth of Mr Bingley's affection, and I had begun to regret my uncalled for interference, the feeling to which a great sense of shame was added after the interview with Miss Elizabeth on the afternoon of January 26th.

I am aware I have been the instrument of your eldest daughter's suffering, sir, and if I could do anything to remedy this, I would. However, I am happy in my knowledge that even if my friend Mr Bingley's affection for Miss Bennet had perhaps received a check in the shape of my intervention, it had nevertheless remained unabated. I extend my heartiest congratulations on the occasion to yourself and your family.

I am going to join Mr Bingley in Hertfordshire as soon as health permits me. Will you allow me to call on you at that time? I wish to discuss a certain matter with you privately, if you shall consent to see me.

I am, sir, your most obedient servant,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

So that was it. It was Mr Darcy! Mr Darcy, of all people!

Mr Bennet's hands searched for the support of the arms of his chair. And if he had at the moment echoed Mrs Whistler's Leitmotiv of `What next?', nobody could have blamed him.

In the meantime, Mr Darcy was doing his best to be able to demonstrate to Mr Bennet just what was next on the agenda of that hard-tried gentleman. Establishing for certain that he would not be permitted to bestir himself not even downstairs, much less out of the house or - God forbid! - to such a remote place as Hertfordshire, before he could prove himself to be fully recovered, he was lying in his bed with great determination. He did, on occasion, complain to Forsythe that he was being held captive in his own house. As his valet betrayed no other sign of attending to his master's words than a solemn bow, Mr Darcy felt that to elaborate on that particular topic would expose him to silent ridicule.

Yet, it occurred to Mr Darcy, even if one was the object of a conspiracy of giant proportions (for no less than three prominent members of his family, namely, his own sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine - by letter, fortunately - were for once of the same mind on a subject), one need not lie in his bed as a sack of flour. One could do something. One could summon people to his bedside.

“But Darcy—”

“No, let me finish. It was inconsiderate and wrong of me.” Mr Darcy, whom Forsythe had attired in a dressing gown of sombre dark green for the occasion, went on,

“I apologize. Forgive me, Bingley.”

Mr Bingley shook his head, “No, no, you do not understand. I … I …”

Were it not for Mr Bingley's grin, his friend would be very concerned by this apparent hardening of Mr Bingley's heart. But Bingley seemed to be in excellent spirits. If Mr Darcy would be obliged to describe the state of mind of the gentleman doing a very creditable impression of a human windmill in front of his very eyes, so active were his hands and arms, he would almost be ready to bestow upon him the epithet of `glowing'.

In the meantime, Mr Bingley at last found the words he was looking for.

“It does not matter. I was miserable, but don't you see? It is perfectly all right.”

“It is?”

“Yes! For she … She loves me, you see. She does. I asked her!”

Mr Darcy, even though used to his friend's erratic speech, had trouble believing that a question of that sort could come from Mr Bingley's lips.

“You asked her if she …?”

“If she would consent to be my wife, yes, and all that.”

Mr Darcy was not - contrary to recent evidence - a man who would resort to physical violence, but at such an occasion he could do little else but to grab his pillow and beat at it with his fists while intermittently laughing, coughing and gasping for air.

“Are you to carry my answer to Mr Darcy, please?” was all Mr Bennet could possibly say without betraying too much of his feelings.

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed. “If that is agreeable to you, sir. I can wait for it until tomorrow afternoon. After that, I am afraid I must return to Town.”

“You shall have your answer.”

“Thank you. I shall be staying at the inn.” The Colonel had bowed when Mr Bennet became a master of himself to the degree sufficient to regret being unable to accommodate the Colonel himself.

“Not at all, sir. I shall be perfectly comfortable at the inn.”

“Will you—” Mr Bennet paused, fighting a battle with the customary notions of hospitality. If he cannot put up a man who has driven all the way from London to hand him this, this, this … Mr Bennet paused again. Who has driven all the way from London on somebody else's errand - and that somebody would deserve a good whipping … The pause was further prolonged.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I beg your pardon, I thought you were going to say something.”

“I was. That, is you will. Pardon me - will you… join us for tea, Colonel, ehm, Fitzwilliam?”

The Colonel eyed the elderly gentleman. The invitation was not perhaps to be taken seriously; for obviously it was a mere form. But he liked Mr Bennet, and since he had found himself in the home of the celebrated Miss Elizabeth Bennet … Well, one related to Darcy should show all deference to his future wife's family, after all. So he smiled and said,

“Thank you, sir. I shall be honoured.”

“For she hardly knows which are the best warehouses! A very shabby piece of work, indeed!”

Mrs Bennet's misery was acute. At last, an opportunity to buy wedding clothes for one of her daughters, and Jane had always been her favourite, not at all like the others, completely ungrateful, making themselves the talk of the village, really, what has the world come to!

Only the thought of having her eldest daughter, her favourite child, the one she had known she could trust, for surely such beauty of face and figure had been put on this earth to some purpose, to have her established as the mistress of Netherfield, and later on, the mistress of … Who knew what the future held, after all?

Mrs Bennet was, as expected, soon happily preoccupied with visions of upcoming grandeur and triumph over those sneaky Lucases, for, as she said to everyone within earshot, “What is a mere country parson? I shall live out my days at Netherfield, while the Lucases are cramped in this good-for-nothing barn of a house!”

She continued in this vein until overheard by her husband, who congratulated her on this great feat but did not hesitate to bring to her attention one small matter - that it could be him who would outlive her, a thought which, for some reason, almost managed to penetrate Mrs Bennet's armour. Almost, for she perceived her daughter's upcoming marriage as her personal triumph.

“I have always said London would do the trick, my dears!” she kept saying and in this spirit, she was even once caught saying to Elizabeth, “Never mind Mr Collins, Lizzy, but why wouldn't you have Wickham?”

However, she only brought the matter up when there were no visitors and when she was alone with Elizabeth, a situation very easy to avoid since after weeks of being visited by no-one at all, the door of Longbourn now seemed to be under a siege. Mrs Philips was in and out of house all day, the Lucases came, the Neightons, and one day brought even Mrs Whistler, who made it abundantly clear to her sister that she would only be seen nigh Longbourn if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was kept out of sight. No doubt Mrs Whistler would be extremely well satisfied if she had known that Elizabeth mostly kept to her room anyway, the lumber room and the coal-cellar* being, due to the time of year, full of their proper occupants and unable to accommodate a Sinner.

Elizabeth had little wish to get out of bed most mornings following the close meeting with Mr Wickham. How she managed to convey to her father the truth - well, a part of it - she did not know. She only remembered her cry to her father, `How could you - how did he manage to persuade you I intended to marry him?'. This sentence had been a shock to her who said it and to him who heard it. She had never been more acutely aware of a very simple fact, namely that she would give much to marry Mr Darcy - that she wished to marry him now, when all hope of her ever meeting him again was gone. She was left with a tarnished reputation, her name bandied about in connection with a good-for-nothing scoundrel!

She had cried bitterly and often, imagining various ways in which he would find out of her alleged trespass, and how it would hurt him. What an affront! Nothing she had said or done could not be as offensive as the fact her name would be coupled with Wickham's, and in such a way! For she was convinced that his purpose had been to meet her, for what other motive would have led him to seek the company of the inhabitants of Longbourn?

Elizabeth smiled at her own vanity, but she felt herself to be in the right. He loved her, and she loved him all the better with every mile that separated them, with every ill-timed word she had recalled to her mind, with every day that found her in disgrace. She loved him and more: she had grown to respect him. How dignified his behaviour now seemed to her - in his position, she would have had no self-control. Well, she did not have it in any case, was the inevitable conclusion which brought tears into her eyes again. Her behaviour that evening was unforgivable! Coupled with what he must find out of her clandestine meeting with Wickham … How must he despise her! Or worse still, she has become utterly unimportant to him. He is ashamed of ever considering …

Having come to the inevitable conclusion, Elizabeth cried more bitterly than ever.

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