Chapter IV

Trouble and Chaos

The party assembled in the breakfast room of Netherfield Hall was completely silent.

All that was to be heard at the large table was the clinking of silverware and the occasional huff or puff (or both huff and puff) from the direction of Mr. Hurst. There was no call for the impending silence. In truth, there was simply nothing to be said. Normally this put Caroline at no disadvantage. She could start a debate on types of fruit, if only for the sake of speaking - or, rather, forcing everyone to hear her speak. But she had been uncharacteristically quiet this morning.

What a delightful change.

Unfortunately, this delightful change was to be put to an end, as Miss Bingley set her cup of chocolate onto the table and 'ahem'ed in preparation for her long anticipated monologue. What would be today's marvelous subject? The abominable society of the country? The horrid lack of style in native Hertfordshire ladies? The horrid lack of chivalry in native Hertfordshire gentlemen? The disgraceful Bennet family? The latter of these topics of conversation was the most frequent, its being the best opportunity to disparage Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy sincerely hoped Caroline would not choose to speak of Elizabeth in such a manner yet again this morning. It was so vexing to hear her speak of Elizabeth's "complete and utter lack of sophistication and breeding," or her "unattractive and unappealing personality" over and over again. He swore to God, if he heard, "Miss Elizabeth is so very unpolished," one more time, he would throw Caroline out of the window.

"Charles, about Miss Jane Bennet-" Well, at least it was a different Bennet he would hear disparaged. Though it pained him to admit it, some of Caroline's slight reproofs of Miss Jane were not…entirely…untrue. Agreeing with her felt like blasphemy.

"Now, Caroline," Bingley replied, "I will hear no more of your objections about Miss Bennet or any of her family."

"Charles, I was only suggesting that I invite Miss Bennet to dinner tonight in order to become better acquainted with her." This was beyond everything. Caroline willingly wishing to become better acquainted with any Bennet, even the well-mannered Jane Bennet, was unbelievable. Darcy nearly asked if she had a fever.

Bingley knew not how to respond for some time. "That… That is thoughtful of you, Caroline."

"Yes, I thought as much." To her it was as casual a decision as deciding to breathe. But everyone else was in a stunned silence at this unexpected act of kindness.

Bingley suddenly broke the silence with a startled gasp of realization. "But I am dining with the officers tonight!"

Ah, now everything was clear! This was no act of kindness (Darcy felt quite foolish for having believed it possible, even for a moment). No, this was trouble. This could only come to trouble. Miss Bennet would be at the liberty of her hostess tonight, without Bingley's interference; it was the perfect opportunity to pour some mean elixir of cruel words into the girl or to get some 'most interesting information' out. Caroline clearly had Lord knows how many tricks up the sleeve of her disgustingly décolletage morning dress.

"Why, bless my soul!" Caroline exclaimed with mock disappointment. "Was that tonight? Well then, we must simply get along with you, Charles. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst will accompany you, I presume?" Darcy's confirmation and Hurst's affirmative grunt were met with a devious smile and a whispered, "Excellent."

It could only mean one thing when Caroline smiled like that.

Darcy would make sure to say a prayer for Miss Jane before they left that night.


"Bingley?"

The door was opened by Bingley's valet, Cremms. Cremms was an odd, eccentric little man of some very advanced years. He walked very slowly and with great focus, as if he expected to plummet to the ground at any moment. If, Darcy thought shamefully, Cremms did happen to take a dreaded fall, he would not be precisely thrilled by the concept of helping him up. The man gave him the jitters - a truth Darcy would admit only to himself - and touching him seemed unclean somehow. The cause of this effect could be easily guessed at; the eerie walk, or the ghostly white skin shriveled up like a dried fig, perhaps? But the most likely cause was the way the old man looked at him with his cold little beady eyes, as if he knew exactly what Darcy was about.

On the other hand, Bingley very much admired his valet. "Cremms," he would often say, "is a dear, fine old fellow." Darcy could easily see the man as old, but definitely not as dear or fine. Perhaps, he thought with a shrug as the old valet silently led him to Bingley's dressing room, there was more to Cremms than met the eye.

"Dammit… Dammit… Dammit…"

"Difficulties, Bingley?"

"Only," Bingley replied without raising his eyes from his neckcloth, "that I could not tie a cravat to save my own life." He carelessly tossed it aside and asked Cremms to bring him a fresh one. "It really doesn't matter anyway, seeing as I'm in absolutely no hurry to leave."

Darcy watch Cremms make his way to his master's neckcloths at a tortoise's pace. "You have certainly picked the right man for the job, then."

Ignoring this comment, Bingley began rummaging through his various drawers and boxes looking for something or other and yelling over his shoulder, "Can you believe Caroline would do this?… Don't answer that. But Darcy, this is quite low, even for her. To deliberately plan a dinner with Jane- …Miss Bennet-" Ah, so he and Bingley had the same problem. "To deliberately plan a dinner with Miss Bennet on a night she knew I would be out! You know, Darcy, in my days as young, reckless rascal-" (Darcy almost remarked that he still was a young, reckless rascal, but he was not sure Bingley was in the mood for teasing.) "In those days, I would often call Caroline a little demon, just to vex her. Now I am beginning to wonder if I was right." Here Darcy was about to laugh in agreement before Bingley continued in a dreamy state of voice, "Only a demon would keep me from being with an angel."

Darcy's expression instantly turned from amused to concerned. Bingley was the type of man to fall in love easily. But he was also the type of man to have his heart broken. "Hurry downstairs, Bingley."

"Right'o, Darcy."


Dining with the officers was less than enchanting.

A group of drunken men, yelling and laughing was not the entertainment Darcy usually sought. There was good conversation (among the sober, at least) about the government, or the war, but he had been in no mood for talking tonight. Therefore, all he had gotten out of the evening was a wine stain on his cravat and Mr. Hurst's captivating debate on the best type of port.

Darcy entered the halls of Netherfield with the outwardly stony countenance which had so easily become his persona, masking the slight joy in his heart the persisting rainstorm had brought him. Bingley and Hurst then followed his lead, grumbling and pouting over the "blasted weather", and the sopping wet threesome stood in the center of a sopping wet floor waiting to shed their sopping wet coats. However the whole of the household was in a state of chaos. So much so that Bingley's calls to the servants running up and down the stairs and across the halls of, "Can someone-? What the-? What is-? Will someone-?" went completely unnoticed. Caroline and Louisa unhurriedly descended the staircase (a great contrast to the rest of the house run amuck) and approached them.

"Finally Charles!" exclaimed Caroline. ("Finally!" Louisa reiterated.) "You're little angel fell quite ill at dinner," ("Fell quite ill at dinner.") "and she is at this moment upstairs with a high fever." ("A very high fever.") Here Bingley attempted to respond, but Caroline, along with Louisa the Parrot, overcame him. "The servants are doing everything they can for her," ("Yes, everything they can.") "so you may as well leave her be and get a good night's rest." ("A good night's rest.")

All this parroting proved a bit confusing for Bingley, but eventually he recovered himself, declaring, "I will do no such thing!" and then proceeding to run frantically about like a madman inquiring, "How does Miss Bennet? Has she everything she could require? Is there a warm fire in her room? Could someone call for a doctor?"

By this point the floor was positively drenched, and Caroline and Louisa were chasing him about, begging him to stop. "Charles, you are soaking the floor!" ("Positively soaking the floor!")

It was absolute chaos.

Seeing as Hurst only bothered to watch the impending madness in silence, and make the depressing observation that he could not see the tip of his shoes over his stomach, Darcy would have to be the one to stop the madness. "Bingley! Bingley! Caroline, Louisa, you cannot- Bingley! Caroline!"

"EVERYONE, STOP!"

They instantly fell to attention.

"Caroline, Louisa, attend to Miss Bennet. Bingley, calm down and find someone to take these blasted coats." After recovering from their shock, the three siblings did as was commanded, and Mr. Hurst left to enjoy his rotund belly elsewhere.

Darcy was quite accustomed to the reaction he had on people. He was used to the frightening effect his deep baritone voice, grim features, and astonishing height had on others. Sometimes it was an advantage. The dreadful Darcy stare had often saved him in a number of uncomfortable circumstances. But he had never liked being such a horrifying prospect. It made him feel like some type of nightmarish creature plaguing the dreams of children. When had anyone unknown to him greeted him with a smile, a real, genuine smile? But this was no time for self-pity. After handing his wet coat to a passing servant, Darcy ascended the stairs and sought out the sick room of Miss Bennet. He was not overly familiar with the house, beyond the library and study, and would not have been able to find the guest room, without the frantic Bingley cries to follow.

"Are you quite certain she is well?" he heard his friend ask.

Then Caroline chimed in. "Yes, Charles, she is quite well." ("Quite well," returned Louisa.)

Darcy cautiously approached the slightly ajar guest room door. From his vantage point, he could easily see a distraught Bingley and a remarkably less distraught Caroline and Louisa hovering around the bed where a pale Miss Bennet laid.

"According to Mrs. Taggert," said Caroline as she rested an indifferent hand on the girl's forehead, "she has a high fever, but it should pass by and by."

This did nothing but increase Bingley's anxiety. "But a high fever, a deadly symptom, Caroline!" Surely he would go into the fidgets if this went on!

Darcy was about to join them and attempt to calm his friends nerves, when the pale figure under the covers began rustling about murmuring, "Lizzie…I need Lizzie…"

Elizabeth.

Darcy simply retreated to his room, where he could muse and fantasize in peace.

Elizabeth. What type of sister was she? This was a new question to add to the never-ending list of questions surrounding the mystery of Elizabeth Bennet. No doubt, she was a caring sibling, loving and compassionate, but responsible and fair in judgement. She must also be a very playful sister, he decided, remembering her teasing, witty nature. She would most certainly be a wonderful companion and friend. Precisely the thing he needed.

And could not have.


The following morning, Miss Bennet was rumored to be but little better, but her health description had been altered from "quite ill" to simply "feverish" by the Bingley sisters. The young lady had had a difficult night, but this morning she was at least well enough to pen a brief, sloppy note to her dear sister, asking for her presence and assistance.

The note being dispatched, Darcy sat in the Netherfield breakfast parlor, nervously anticipating Elizabeth's arrival. Surely it would not be for some hours, but still he found himself anxiously picking at his food, twiddling his fingers, and counting the minutes as they went by.

Caroline was just about to launch into yet another long lecture on the "complete lack of sense in the minds of the Bennets of Longbourn," and Darcy was just about to pretend to listen, when a servant suddenly entered and announced Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth! Darcy hurriedly stood from his seat, along with Bingley and a most displeased at being forced to stand Hurst. Slowly, Elizabeth entered the breakfast room, with her chin confidently raised and a slight rim of laughter lining the center of her fine eyes. Her stockings were filthy, her petticoat a mess, most of her hair had fallen out of its simple coiffure, and her cheeks were the deep, bright red often brought on by the warmth of exercise.

She had never looked lovelier.

Clearly she had walked from Longbourn, judging by her appearance. And although he could not justify her risking her safety by walking so many miles alone, it did show an affection for her sister most heart-warming. Now more than ever he pictured her as a warm, loving companion, and longed for both her sweet and her savory touch in his dismal life. He would have liked very much to take the walk with her. To watch as her cheeks and eyes gradually began to brighten and glow. To discover the origin of every speck of mud and dirt upon her. To let loose the few sections of her hair that were still pinned, so that he could see it all hanging about her in a rich waterfall of darkness. What would it be like, to hold her in his arms? What would it be like to feel the fabric of that filthy, fetching blue gown she wore in his own hands? Would her dark, beguiling eyes ever be raised to his with something like love and affection? He could imagine it. Easily.

He would rush to her side, inquiring if she had been hurt. She would assure him that she was quite well, and that it was all for the sake of her sister. He would smile, and tell her how well he thought of her, what a wonderful sister she was, and ask if he could give her anything for her comfort. Then she would smile, and reply with that wry, teasing smile of hers,

"Just you."

Then they would laugh, (How desperately he longed to laugh with her!), their laughs combining and forming one perfect sound of bliss, mirth, and ultimate happiness. He would pick her up then, and spin her about the room, causing the rest of the world to blur and fade into oblivion, leaving nothing but the two of them. They would fit together perfectly. And they would be happy and merry and….

Completely insane! Darcy was now convinced that something was wrong in him somewhere. Had someone been slipping laudanum into his drinks?

"May I," the real Elizabeth inquired, "see my sister? I am dreadfully worried for her."

His own voice seemed miles away as he replied, "Of course you are." Shocked at being addressed by him, she turned to meet his constant gaze. He fancied that, for a mere moment, their two gazes locked, an unexplainable connection occurring. A connection he would look back on, nearly every day from then on.

"I will take you to your sister, Miss Bennet," Caroline declared with faux graciousness.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, he did not want her to go. A most unnerving realization.

Would this mixture of trouble and chaos ever come to an end?