Chapter Six

The militia had come to Meryton. Kitty and Lydia were delighted; their mother mortified. For what could an officer bring to her girls but trouble and temptation? The youngest Bennets were, hence, banned from associating with any man in regimentals. This had perhaps the opposite effect, as Kitty and Lydia, both romantic at heart and naive by youth, were ever more allured to the athletic young men quartered but a mile from their home. Walking, however, was permitted, so long as they were with either of their two oldest sisters, so thither went Jane, but most commonly Elizabeth, and her youngest sisters to town three or four times a week. This was most fortuitous because though Jane was the natural favorite of her sisters, Elizabeth could check their behavior with swifter and more efficient skill.

One morning, such a scheme to enter Meryton with Elizabeth had been arranged when a note arrived from Netherfield at breakfast.

"A proposal from Mr. Darcy to Lizzie!" Lydia cried, completely losing her head.

"No, for Jane!" Kitty proclaimed. She more had the measure of it and was rewarded when the footman handed it to the eldest Bennet sister and stood to wait for an answer.

"Who is it from, Jane? It's not from that Bingley, is it? Make haste, my love!" Her mother asked, craning her neck as though she could read it from across the table.

"It's from Miss Bingley," Jane said with pleasure, "inviting me to dine at Netherfield with her and her sister."

"And the gentlemen?" Mrs. Bennet asked with an air of casual indifference.

"Are to dine with the officers," Jane said with equanimity. "Father, may I have the carriage?"

"Of course, you can't," said her mother briskly. "The horses are needed on the farm, and they can't be spared. You had better send your regrets and stay in, for it looks like rain. Practice your French with Mary; she's been struggling with her past perfect tense."

"Oh, couldn't I go on Nellie, Mama? I do enjoy their society and would be sorry to miss it. Mary, dear, I'll help you tomorrow with your French."

"Absolutely not, Jane, I forbid it. You are not to ride to that house, do you hear me?" Mrs. Bennet's voice was forceful and final.

After breakfast, Elizabeth caught Jane's arm, speaking low and fast. "Do you really want to see your friends, dearest?"

Jane looked sadly at the note crumpled in her hand. "With my whole heart."

"Take my place and go into town with Lydia and Kitty. I can help Mary with her past present well enough, though Lord knows how I've struggled ever since Miss Allen left when Lydia came out into society."

"I'm not much in the mood for town today, Lizzy."

"Once you walk to Meryton," Elizabeth said slowly and clearly, "You're only two miles out from Netherfield. Mama said nothing against walking to visit Miss Bingley and her sister. You could get there by mealtime if you head out now. Maybe your Bingley will come back early, and you can see him before you come home. I'm sure Miss Bingley will loan you their carriage."

Jane's eyes sparkled. "I think I shall take the girls into Meryton if it's all the same to you, Lizzy."

Dining with the officers was not an experience Darcy was loath to repeat anytime soon. He sat in silent indignation at Bingley's boyish deportment with the uncouth men and spoke only when directly addressed, and feigning ignorance was unavoidable. He was envious of Hurst, who had fallen asleep directly and was not subject to the same line of insolence that was pointed towards himself. He left in an aggrieved temper and hurry to return to the safety of Netherfield–confined with Miss Bingley and her nearly as odious sister he may be, but at least there he could escape to his rooms, where thankfully, even the temporary mistress of Netherfield could not follow him.

Rain pounded on the carriage roof, deluging the windows with such a heavy downpour that the glass was nearly opaque. The thundering din of rain had lulled Hurst right back to sleep, and between the shower and his snores was a strong disincentive for conversation.

They rode on without so much a word between Bingley and Darcy when Bingley leaned forward, frowning.

"I say! That rather looks like a woman on the side of the road." He shouted over the storm and the sounds of the slumbering Hurst.

"In this storm? It can't be," Darcy called back.

"No, look! It is!" And sure enough, was a womanly figure sprawled beside the road. "Stop the carriage!"

The carriage squelched to a stop, spraying mud everywhere. Bingley leaped out of the chaise, clambered over a puddle, and ran to the body. Darcy, after a moment's hesitation, followed.

"Miss Bennet!" Bingley cried, leaning over the figure. "Darcy, it's Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet, can you hear me?"

"Mr. Bingley? Mr. Bingley, is that you?" a weakened yet familiar voice said, hoarse and gummy with dampness. Darcy nearly swore. It was Miss Bennet. But what on earth was she doing collapsed in the rain on the way to Netherfield?

"It is I, Miss Bennet, do not worry: you will be safe with us. Darcy–Darcy! Can you inform the driver that we will be bringing Miss Bennet into the carriage? She's wet through."

Shocked into obedience, Darcy went to the coachmen, all the while watching as Bingley removed his coat and, with the most incredible tenderness, draped it around Miss Bennet, who was struggling to retain a sitting position.

"We will have one more in our party on the way back to Netherfield," said Darcy with greater apprehension than he was used to speaking with.

"Very good, sir."

"Darcy! Darcy! Quick, man, your arm!"

Darcy wheeled around. Behind him, Bingley had propped up Miss Bennet against him, whose head was lolling on his shoulder. She was favoring her left side, even in her delirium. Darcy rushed to her other side, but Bingley beat him to it. He scooped the lady up in his arms and staggered to the carriage. A coachman leaped down and grabbed the door, holding it as Darcy scrambled into the chaise and coaxed Mr. Bingley to place Miss Bennet in his arms. Bingley did so with the greatest reluctance, holding on a moment longer than necessary to her hand. Hurst grunted but did not wake as he was shoved into the window.

"Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bennet murmured, blinking with great surprise at him. "You were to dine with the officers, were you not?" She was trembling with cold, and Darcy realized with fear that she was cool to the touch. Bingley had seated himself on her other side and, with no great delicacy, slapped the carriage roof and yelled, "forward!"

"Tell Miss Mary I shall be there directly and remind her it is about the preceding particle more than anything else," Miss Bennet said drowsily, raising a sluggish arm. "Do not let Miss Elizabeth mix her pronouns, as she is apt to do, and after all that, please fetch me a glass of cool water, for I feel most warm." And with that, she shook out from underneath Bingley's coat, stripped out of her ruined pelisse, bent forward, and started hiking up her dripping skirts. Darcy quickly averted his eyes at the sight of a pale ankle peeping out from under the dress.

"No!" Bingley cried, grabbing her hand. "Miss Bennet, you're are not of a stable mind right now, I fear. Don't do something now you'll regret later."

"Miss Bingley," Miss Bennet seized the front of Bingley's waistcoat, looking half-mad. "Do tell Miss Bingley I am running late. I had to walk: there was no alternative." And with that, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she slumped against a stone-still Darcy, who was unaccustomed to such accosting methods by young ladies.

Shaking, Bingley wrapped his fallen coat back around her shoulders. The view of Netherfield was rolling rapidly into sight.

"We need to get her out of these wet things," Darcy said tentatively, "We need to warm her up. Have Nicholls prepare a room with a fire for her." Bingley nodded but did not speak.

Before the carriage had stopped, Bingley had swung the door open and leaped out, skidding through the mud. Mrs. Nicholls and a couple of servants came out, and their placid faces immediately transformed into looks of alarm.

Darcy watched the scene unfold as the mild-mannered Bingley shouted down and ordered around his staff in a way he hadn't thought his friend capable of. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came rushing out of the house. Upon seeing Miss Bennet carried out of the chaise, head supported with care by Bingley, the great ladies gasped and swooned. Miss Bingley had to be escorted inside for incapability to walk, which caused almost as large a commotion as did the transport of the invalid up to a guest room.

Bingley was reported by a maid to be as pacing as near to Miss Bennet's temporary quarters as would be deemed appropriate and could not be prevailed upon to leave.

In a daze, Darcy relayed what had occurred to the ladies, the housekeeper Nicholls, and a groggy Hurst, who had incredibly slept through the chaos. Mrs. Nicholls, a thin, middle-aged woman, received this information with good grace and respectfully recommended a dispatch for the doctor, which Darcy approved, and a note to the lady's family, of which Darcy agreed to take up the office. Unbeknownst to the writer, that note would not be received until the next day.

By evening, Elizabeth was well and truly worried. Jane should have long been back, and it seemed that it had now come to a point where telling her mother of her sister's intended location was inescapable. When Jane had not returned with Lydia and Kitty from Meryton, Elizabeth conjectured that Jane must have dropped in on the Phillipses. Then the rain had started: a torrential downpour that washed away the prospect of Jane's return that day.

Anticipating an unpleasant conversation for both, she arranged for the most privacy and least dangerous time to bother her mother: right after she had gone through financial reports on her daughter's dowry investments and was consequently in a very cheerful mood.

"Mama, I feel I must tell you about Jane."

"Yes, dearest?" Her mother asked, folding up her papers with a satisfied nod. "How unlucky that she got caught in such a storm! Well—she'll be very well for the night at my sister Phillips."

"That is what I wanted to speak to you of—you see—"

"I am thinking," said her mother, "of asking my brother to host Jane in town for a month or so. She has a much better chance of meeting a husband there than here, do you not think—ah!" She said, catching Elizabeth's crestfallen expression, "but you are naturally jealous of your sister. Not to worry, dear, you'll have your turn in due course."

With that, Mrs. Bennet left the room. With no other option, Elizabeth knew: she must appeal to her father.

Mr. Bennet was such an odd mixture of indolence and impertinence, reserve, caprice, and sarcastic humor that four of his five daughters and his wife failed to understand his character. Elizabeth was the exception to this and was consequently a favorite of her father.

She approached Mr. Bennet after the evening meal. "Papa," she said, "Might I speak with you on a matter of some seriousness?"

He turned an amused eye to his second eldest. "Am I to learn the true whereabouts of your sister?"

"Yes," she admitted, seeing no reason to obfuscate. "Papa, I fear I misled you and Mama as to her intention when she entered Meryton today with Kitty and Lydia."

"Oh? This wouldn't have anything to do with the invitation she received this morning, does it?"

"It does, sir. I am rather ashamed to admit that I encouraged her to walk to Netherfield, as Mama made no order against walking," Elizabeth said, a touch of impatience entering her tone.

"Quite so. And now, Jane has gone and got herself caught in a rainstorm–well, we shouldn't expect her back until tomorrow, now that she is safely ensconced in the care of Mr. Bingley."

Elizabeth flushed. It all sounded so untoward when her father put it like that. "Mama won't listen to me, you see. I don't want Jane in trouble for my misjudgment–I just know she likes that family, and what is so very wrong with her associating with Mr. Bingley–aside from his choice in sisters and friends, though I suppose the sisters he cannot much help."

"Indeed not." Mr. Bennet was now openly smiling. "Well, I shall raise the subject with Mrs. Bennet soon. Even she is not so dull as to not take note when Mrs. Phillips cannot testify to Jane's presence at her home."

Elizabeth bit her tongue but held silent at her father's dismissal of her mother. They had little affection for one another, she knew, from her mother's constant insistence on economizing and money-managing for their daughters, which, Elizabeth knew, he would have just as soon as forsake such responsibility.

In vain, she waited through the evening for her father to venture his word. It was not until the following morning, however, at breakfast, when two notes arrived for him, did he speak.

Passing both to Elizabeth, he began. "Well, my dear, it seems that we are obliged to the residents at Netherfield for their attentive care of our daughter."

"What are you speaking of Mr. Bennet?"

"I speak, Mrs. Bennet, of your eldest daughter's stay at Netherfield last night."

The shock was immediate and had the desired effect. Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened, and her mouth went slack in what one could only imagine was preparing for a great scream when Mr. Bennet spoke again.

"It seems the gentlemen of that…august house came across our unlucky daughter and for good reason to, as it seems she suffers from a twisted foot and now a severe chill, according to Mr. Jones who paid her a visit this very morning."

Mrs. Bennet swelled with fury. "How dare she…How could she…I gave her direct instructions to–"

"The blame is entirely mine, Mrs. Bennet," her husband said smoothly. His daughters and wife gaped at him. "Jane wished to see her friends, and who was I to disapprove? I gave her leave to walk to Netherfield Park so as to not contradict your specific direction not to ride to go and dine there."

Elizabeth, having read the two notes from Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, respectively, was feeling rather worried. "I shall go to her," she declared, standing from the table.

"You will not!" Her mother cried, "Never have I been so disrespected in my own home. No, Miss Lizzy, you will do no such thing."

"I wish to tend to my sister, ma'am," Elizabeth said with a calmness she did not feel. "Surely my presence there must be more welcome to you than not–I might observe that nothing unscrupulous occurs."

"How clever of you, Elizabeth," Mr. Bennet said, barely concealing a smile.

"Very well," her mother snapped, "I see I am overruled. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, you may walk like your sister. Take care not to roll your ankle as well."

And so, obliged to walk, Elizabeth set out. Her anxiety for Jane considerably dampened her mood. Still, after such a rain, the landscape was so lovely and fresh anew that she could not help but leap over puddles and trod with great energy down the path.

She arrived at Netherfield with a rather muddy hem, hair askew, and a face alight from the exertion of her walk.

She skipped around a hedge, towards the great house, when–

"Mr. Darcy!"

"Miss Bennet!"

The two stared at each other. "I am here to inquire after my sister," Elizabeth said finally, "we received your notes this morning."

"On foot?"

"As you see," Elizabeth said, feeling rather annoyed. Mr. Darcy said nothing, gazing at her incredulously.

"Would you be so kind as to take me to her?"

As if regaining his composure, he straightened and brushed his arm toward the house. She marched right by him and into the lion's den.