"Well, my dear," said Mr Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, "if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness–if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr Bingley, and under your orders."
"Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage."
Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.
"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane–which is all I want."
"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said her father, "to send for the horses?"
"No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."
P&P Chapter 7
"Lizzy, might I have a word?"
Elizabeth Bennet paused in the act of putting on her pelisse to look curiously and smiled. "Of course, Mary."
Her next younger, and often pedantic, moralising sister seemed somewhat nervous, which was uncommon. Happy to be having a different sort of communication than usual, she gently asked, "What is it?"
Mary drew a bit of a shuddering breath. "I briefly spoke to the footman who delivered Jane's note. I did not think it improper since we have known him for years."
"I would never have thought it improper."
Mary nodded in grateful acknowledgement, as if worried she had done something wrong.
"I asked him how long it takes to ride to Netherfield."
Elizabeth thought it a very odd question but was far more concerned with reducing Mary's obvious nervousness than anything else.
"What did he say?"
"It took him 30 minutes. It is young Timothy Watson, so you know he never does anything with alacrity. I asked a few questions out of curiosity, and he said Mr Bingley or Darcy could make it in twenty minutes comfortably, or fifteen if their horses were already warmed up."
Elizabeth stifled a bit of frustration with Mary's roundabout explanation that still did not appear to be anywhere near her main point. She simply arched an eyebrow and nodded for her sister to proceed.
"He said a lady, ambling along sidesaddle on a broken-down-old-nag in no particular hurry could easily make it in 40."
Elizabeth frowned, not liking the direction of the conversation.
"Go on."
Mary sighed. "The Bingleys keep town hours, so dinner is half-past six, unlike our half-past five. Jane would want to arrive early for conversation. She left at four to give herself plenty of time."
Feeling increasingly puzzled, Elizabeth said, "And?"
Mary sighed. "The rain started at half-past five, an hour and a half after she left! She had time to ride to Netherfield and back before it started."
Elizabeth frowned at the news, not alarmed, but not exactly sanguine either.
"Why do I think there is more?" she asked.
"Because there is. The remedy box had Calamus extract and Ipecac. Both are missing?"
"Meaning?" Elizabeth asked with an even fiercer frown.
"Calamus is used to induce sweating, so it could be used by a disingenuous person to mimic a fever. Ipecac, as you well know from your earlier fascination with eating bad plants, induces vomiting, and easily causes sore throat and coughing."
Elizabeth sighed resignedly. "It seems Jane might be feeling the weight of her age."
Mary nodded, glad to not have the burden solely on her head anymore. "Or the weight of our mother's ceaseless carping."
"Based on that, it seems possible—nay, likely—that Jane waited for the rain to get a bit wet, then put on a good show," Elizabeth observed.
"It seems likely."
"What do we do?"
"You tell me?"
Elizabeth thought a moment. "We need to know! This sounds like one of Mama's hare-brained schemes, but it is not like Jane to do something she knows is not right."
"Perhaps we do not know Jane as well as we thought," Mary asked dejectedly.
"Yes, or perhaps we do not know what it is like to suffer twenty-two years of our mother looking to your beauty to save us from starving in the hedgerows; and seven years out without so much as a nibble, let alone a bite?"
Mary gave a mirthless chuckle. "I fear neither of us will ever suffer twenty-two minutes!"
Elizabeth laughed, and gave Mary a hug, wondering when they had lost their sisterly camaraderie, or indeed, if they ever had it.
"I suppose I must go with you to Netherfield," Mary said, sounding like she would rather do almost anything else.
"I suppose so," Elizabeth said, and reached for Mary's pelisse.
Travelling alone, Elizabeth would probably have taken the direct route, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity. However, with Mary along, prudence won the day. They even had the company of their two younger sisters for the first mile into Meryton, as they were in search of the ever-elusive red coats.
They continued on the road to Netherfield, which offered a slower but cleaner route. Elizabeth reflected she would have been in a hurry to see Jane if she honestly believed her sister ill, but with nothing driving her but the need to see if her beloved sister was dishonest, the long route seemed just the thing. She might even have preferred an even longer one.
The sisters were shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were assembled, and where their appearance created a great deal of surprise. That they should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by themselves, was almost incredible to Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held them in contempt for it. They were received, however, very politely by them; and in their brother's manners there was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. Mr Darcy said very little, and Mr Hurst nothing at all.
As was her normal practice, Mary let Lizzy speak for the two of them. Her inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well enough to leave her room. The sisters were glad to be taken to her immediately.
Upon entry to the bedchamber, Elizabeth noticed Jane looked very ill indeed, and was momentarily shamed by her suspicions. However, before she allowed a rush to judgement, she sat beside the bed and began conversing with as much animation as her elder sister seemed capable of, while Mary blended into the background as usual.
A quarter-hour later, Elizabeth glanced up to see Mary holding two bottles aloft but out of Jane's sight. With a sinking feeling, Elizabeth recognised the handwriting on one bottle since it was her own. The other was in Mary's script, so there was no doubt at all what they were dealing with.
With a silent communication, Mary deliberately put both back where she found them as Elizabeth watched. Neither was likely to discuss it anywhere they might be overheard. Jane's bedchamber, being possessed of a dressing room and servant's stairs was rife with eavesdropping opportunities.
When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts.
Elizabeth and Mary were not entirely sanguine with his assessment. Mr Jones was a reasonably good apothecary for a small town like Meryton, and he had treated many childhood illnesses as misadventures. He was mostly a reasonable and competent man, but Elizabeth doubted he was up to discerning prevarication on the part of Jane Bennet. Her reputation was sterling, so nobody in the area would believe her capable of dissembling. Elizabeth herself would not have believed it without proof.
Elizabeth also had to reluctantly admit that Mr Jones tended to recommend bed rest close to the nearest source of money. It rarely caused a problem, but she knew that if all Jane suffered from was a violent cold, she would be perfectly capable of recovering in Longbourn after an only moderately uncomfortable carriage ride of a half-hour. That Mr Jones preferred her closer to the rich and amiable Mr Bingley, instead of the noisy household of the notoriously tight-fisted Mr Bennet, was not necessarily a mark against the man. He had to eat too, but Elizabeth did not like the position she was placed in.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth and Mary felt that they must go, and very unwillingly said so. Neither had the slightest desire to stay at Netherfield in the company of the Bingley sisters and their inexplicably sly sister, nor could they be comfortable leaving Jane to get up to her mischief all alone. Their reputations were no less brittle than they were beautiful, and they would have enough trouble with Lydia and Kitty without Jane adding to their woes.
Miss Bingley offered the carriage, and they only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth had no idea why Jane wanted her to stay for the show. Perhaps she thought her sister would distract Mr Bingley's sisters so she could make love to him, or perhaps she felt some shame for the trick that she was fully committed to, or perhaps she had her own reasons that Elizabeth could not fathom.
The chaise was still required to return Mary to Longbourn, and she promised to send clothes back for her and Jane. Elizabeth was fully expecting a relatively unpleasant experience, but also looked forward to sketching the Netherfield resident's characters. Mr Bingley did not seem that much of a challenge; but on the other hand, she would have said the same about Jane four hours earlier, so she might just have to be a little less quick to judge. Perhaps, she might even reevaluate Mr Darcy. She doubted either man held much in the way of surprises, but her confidence in first impressions had taken a blow.
As per Mary's suppositions, at five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. At Longbourn, a half-hour was more than sufficient to dress even with only one maid for six women. An hour and a half when they had their own maids seemed excessive, but that was in keeping with the Bingley sisters' general habits. They could be excessively agreeable when they wanted to or excessively snobbish otherwise. She little doubted Miss Bingley thought the dining room perfect grounds for big game hunting, which would necessitate her best effort. Her suppositions turned out to be correct, thus giving her a bit more faith in her powers of discernment.
Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards; who, when he found her to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her. She found neither his silence nor his disdain in any way disagreeable.
With time and leisure to observe, she wondered what life was like for people who were handsome enough to tempt someone. There was little doubt that Mr Darcy tempted nearly every unmarried woman he ever met, and probably half the married ones. As Charlotte had observed at Lucas Lodge, "One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud."
In a sudden epiphany, mostly based on Jane's uncharacteristic actions of the previous day, Elizabeth realised it was a double-edged sword. Jane and Mr Darcy had a right to be proud, and both could get away with being less agreeable. Jane had only about half of Elizabeth's dreaded accomplishments, yet Mrs Bennet thought her beauty alone would do the trick. Mr Darcy could likewise assume most women would be satisfied with his admittedly handsome person and his astonishingly good situation.
That said, Jane had been drooled over by every green boy and big-eyed man in the neighbourhood since she came out. She rarely had to sit out a dance, but she also had to dance with some very disagreeable men every assembly without fail.
Mr Darcy no doubt had to put up with the fawning attentions Miss Bingley was directing at him ever since he entered society. If his face was any guide, he did not enjoy it in the least. She had no idea why he put up with it, but suspected he got enough benefit from Mr Bingley's company to tolerate his cloying sister. All of that was food for thought and made his slight at the assembly hurt just a little bit less. After all, her own mother treated the man worse than he treated Elizabeth.
When dinner was over, Elizabeth returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs Hurst thought the same, and added:
"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."
The ladies apparently did not account for the possibility Elizabeth would return for her reticle, or they just did not care. Elizabeth strongly suspected the latter.
She felt no shame eavesdropping on people gossiping about her and was interested to see the turn of the conversation. It was enlightening.
Mr Bingley tried several times to amiably turn his sisters' vitriol, but she considered it far too little to have any effect (although to be fair, a canon might not be either). The daughters of a long line of tradesmen seemed content to cast aspersions on the Bennets because they had a couple tradesman uncles, and they felt no qualms about beating the subject to death.
She began to wonder why she was going to so much trouble to save the man from Jane's wiles. While her own mother and sisters were as bad as Miss Bingley, Elizabeth had no power over them. Mr Bingley had all the power in the world yet chose not to use it. Oddly enough, she had previously worried Jane might not be tough enough to handle the sisters, but given her general sneakiness, she was no longer so certain.
Mr Darcy was also an interesting study. He seemed to apportion words like a miser. She could easily understand why, since anything he might say was just as likely to result in another torrent of words from the sisters as not.
Nothing about what he said surprised her until Miss Bingley said something she could barely hear.
"I am afraid, Mr Darcy," observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."
"Not at all," he replied; "they were brightened by the exercise."
With that assertion, she blushed and backed away with the age-old admonition that eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves.
Elizabeth returned to the bedchamber, and saw that Jane was either asleep or doing a good impression of it, so she retired to her room for an hour or two of deep thinking.
When her head started hurting over trying to make sense of Jane's behaviour, she tried to divert it by thinking of Mr Darcy. He was certainly an enigma.
Four and twenty ours earlier she had believed she knew all there was to know about Jane, based on twenty years of sharing a bedchamber; and all there ever was to know about the Derbyshire gentleman, based on one comment. She reluctantly admitted that if twenty years was insufficient to sketch her own sister's character, one incautious comment made by a man the first time in company in a new county was probably inadequate as well.
Much as it distressed her, she tried to think over the remainder of their acquaintance with fresh eyes. He was certainly a taciturn man, and there could be no two opinions about that—but taciturnity hardly qualified as a crime. Her father was also a man of few words, and she occasionally had to admit that he could stand to say even fewer than he did. There seemed little cause for a father to praise his favourite daughter by saying she was slightly less silly and ignorant than her sisters. Given that, she could hardly consider his taciturnity as a mark against him.
She thought back to Lucas Lodge, and her feelings were somewhat different. The poor man had essentially been assaulted by Sir William and ordered to dance with her. She, in her hubris, refused, and yet he asked again. She doubted he had ever been refused, but when she asserted that Mr Darcy is all politeness, she thought she was being sarcastic, but one could easily make the case that she was correct. He was handling a difficult situation with aplomb, and her honour demanded she acknowledge it. He had behaved better than she had.
Given that, combined with the fact that almost all of Miss Bingley's vitriol had been aimed at Elizabeth specifically, and followed with her confusing comment and response about fine eyes, she could only conclude that Mr Darcy had unaccountably, at some time, told Miss Bingley that he admired her fine eyes. Admiring her eyes could be considered damning by feint praise, but it was also a way a man might admire beauty without getting himself leg shackled. It was certainly a far cry from not handsome enough to dance with.
Once Elizabeth laboriously worked out that Mr Darcy was probably not an ogre, but Miss Bingley certainly was, she was sanguine enough. A man could admire a lady's eyes without meaning any more than that. Men by the dozens admired Jane without meaning any more, but she was surprisingly satisfied that she had at least made a tiny little dent in the Derbyshire gentleman's reserve.
The next couple of days were a rather exhausting mix of confusion, embarrassment, and sleepless nights.
Jane maintained the ruse of illness and gave every indication she did not think Elizabeth was on to her.
For her part, Elizabeth could not sleep well at night, partly because she had to keep up her part of the ruse by checking on Jane frequently, and partly because she was afraid Jane would sneak out at night like a French spy and try to … well, she had no idea what Jane might try. She could try a compromise, but that would be close to suicidal. She might try to pass notes to Mr Bingley, which was only slightly less risky, but it seemed the kind of thing the man would be up for. She might try to scout the house to see how she would live. The possibilities were endless, but there was no way Elizabeth would be likely to know. Since there were so many possibilities, and she had to keep up the concerned sister act to prevent the Bingleys from assigning a maid who might give away the secret, she was left tired and ill-tempered (which was actually probably good for the ruse).
Late in the evenings, when she had the comfort of seeing Jane sleep (or at least pretend to), it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should go downstairs herself. The evenings were… interesting.
Miss Bingley never missed an opportunity to denigrate her or sing the praises of Mr and Miss Darcy (or her own for that matter), but she did it in such an unconvincing manner Elizabeth thought only an idiot would be fooled. She did everything from implying Elizabeth was a blue stocking because she did not want to play cards with them to denigrating her clothing and figure. It was all so amusing, and frankly pointless. Miss Bingley was more likely to move a boulder than Mr Darcy's affections.
That gentleman, on the other hand, was even more confusing. She overheard him walking with Miss Bingley in the garden, and once again they said something about her fine eyes before she ran away in horror. She had no idea what they said before or after.
Miss Bingley made a huge list of the necessary skills to be an accomplished lady and Mr Darcy expanded the already ridiculous list to include improve her mind through extensive reading. It sounded like a good way to praise her for reading, while subtly putting Miss Bingley in her place, since she was practically illiterate.
Her mother and sisters came to check on Jane, and Elizabeth slipped away when they were not looking. With Lydia and Kitty along, it was not much of a challenge. She went into her own bedchamber, then through the servant's stairs (that she had explored in the middle of the night) to arrive at Jane's dressing room just as Mrs Bennet sent the three younger girls away.
She shamelessly eavesdropped on that conversation without the slightest qualms and was both confused and horrified.
"Oh, Jane, I knew how it would be. You have been here days now. You should be able to make it a week."
"Perhaps it has worked somewhat, Mama. I have made some progress with the sisters, but I have yet to see the gentleman."
"Leave that to Lizzy. She will see you get several hours in the drawing room. Just be certain you do not look too recovered. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so give him an hour or two then back to bed. A couple of days of that and he will be eating from the palm of your hand."
"I do not know, Mama… it sounds a bit… desperate."
"Not yet, my dear. If you do get desperate, you can …"
Elizabeth strained to hear the even more despicable plan her mother was no doubt concocting, but the matron had rather inconveniently discovered the art of subtlety. She could not hear either lady, which gave her even more anxiety. What she heard from Jane did not make her sound like the mastermind, but neither did she sound reluctant to follow her mother's schemes. However, she had no idea how Jane felt about the no-doubt more underhanded schemes she had not heard. Sometimes with Mrs Bennet you just had to ride out whatever she had to say and then do what you thought was right. Jane could be listening without the slightest intention towards compliance, or she could be critiquing her mother and improving her scheme.
Elizabeth had no idea which, and it bothered her more than any other thought she had ever had.
When she returned to the drawing room, she pulled Mary aside as Mrs Bennet blathered on. With half an ear she took her sister's report that Mr Bennet found the whole thing terribly amusing. Furthermore, as the father of five daughters, he was unlikely to turn his nose up at any little trick that gave advantage with such little effort or expense.
Elizabeth frowned but was not especially surprised to find her long-standing respect for her father evaporating overnight.
When she turned her attention back to her room, she found her mother perfectly willing to join Miss Bingley in publicly chastising he, much to Mr Bingley's embarrassment.
To Elizabeth's shock, Mr Darcy came to her rescue, or at least that seemed his intent. He threw out some comments designed to divert Mrs Bennet from her criticism. Unfortunately, much to Elizabeth's mortification, her mother turned his gallant rescue into a cause for her to move her criticism from her daughter to her apparent champion.
By the time Lydia jumped in to browbeat Mr Bingley into holding a ball, Elizabeth wanted to run to the edge of the garden and scream until her throat was raw; although she had to ruefully admit she could accomplish the same thing by taking the last of Jane's Ipecac.
She was never so happy to see someone leave as her mother and sisters, and she swore to Mary that she would allow Jane one night in company for her trouble, and they would be home no later than Sunday after church if she had to drag Jane out and throw her on Nellie personally.
On Friday evening, Jane finally quit pretending enough to come down to the drawing room and as far as Elizabeth was concerned, her treachery was rewarded by a couple hours of Mr Bingley's solicitude.
He was full of joy and attention. The first half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be further from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone else.
Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight. She was not delighted by Jane winning by subterfuge, but she was happy she now had all she needed to insist on returning to Longbourn.
That thought was tempered by a concern that she would not be able to convince Mr Bingley to loan them the chaise for another day or two, and she really did not want to spend that much time worrying that Jane might do something stupid.
Mr Darcy continued his rather confusing behaviour.
Miss Bingley tried to get the poor man to prance around the room with them, but he asserted he could see their figures much better while he sat by the fire. He was about as subtle as a bear, since he was looking directly at Elizabeth when he said it. She had no idea if he was serious our teasing (or she misread his look entirely), but at least she now knew he could tease when the mood struck him.
He was certainly hot and cold. One minute he was all solicitude, and the next he was as cold and remote as ever… as if his burst of amiability frightened him. She wondered if he became distressed of something she would never understand. Might he be worried about making the dreaded expectations, as if Elizabeth had any hope whatsoever of marrying a man of any consideration in the world? Did he keep a bank account of amiability, and he noticed his balance was low? What a vexing man!
She went to bed with her head full of confusion. What was Jane thinking? A compromise, or even being caught in her subterfuge might get her married, but it would make the rest of them even more unmarriageable (if such a thing was possible). Was Jane following her mother's orders, collaborating, or taking notes and asking for details?
She finally fell asleep with one dispiriting thought:
At 22, Jane was nearly as on the shelf as Charlotte, so a little bit of desperation was understandable—but who would pay the cost?
With at least a few hours of sleep, Elizabeth woke up with a firm resolve to return to Longbourn. She knew that if she sent a note to her mother, she would return another saying the carriage was not available until Tuesday, or Wednesday, or perhaps not for another month. She avoided that frustration by simply not bothering.
Instead, she went to Mr Bingley. That worthy sounded so much like Mrs Bennet that Elizabeth wanted to scream, 'Just go to Longbourn and court her like an ordinary man', but naturally the scream only echoed in her head. Instead, she replied calmly, and reasonably, and eventually compromised on returning Sunday after church.
Mr Darcy appeared to have checked his amiability balance and found it low, because as far as Elizabeth could tell, he had decided not to show her any particular favour, perhaps frightened that his earlier defence of her might have given her big ideas. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through Saturday morning, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.
They may well have gone on in that fashion all day, had Elizabeth not been so tired, so desperate for sensible counsel, and so convinced that even if he was not consistently amiable, she had never caught him in a lie, or even a prevarication. She did not always like what he said, but it was the truth as he saw it.
"Mr Darcy, would you be willing to advise me on a somewhat… delicate matter?" she asked sheepishly.
He gave her a look that vacillated between fierce and concerned, as if he could not quite decide how to answer, so she helped him along.
"I will not ask you to do anything dishonourable, though you may find it disagreeable. You also need not fear any sort of obligation. I just need someone sensible to discuss my concerns with."
She sat in trepidation, and came within an inch of telling him to forget the whole thing and run out into the garden, but by that time she was committed to telling him something, lest he… he what?
Before she could descend into panic, he answered in a deep voice that she oddly found comforting, even though the same voice had raised her hackles a few days earlier.
"I will be happy to help in any way I can. I will hold whatever you tell me in the strictest confidence. You may depend on me."
She took a deep breath. "I shall not ask you to do anything dishonourable, but keeping your silence may be to the disadvantage of your friends."
He frowned and asked, "If the disadvantage is serious, will you allow me to act."
"I do not believe it to be too serious, but if, after I disclose it, we decide together it is serious enough to act, then I will not oppose you."
He gave her a smile that she thought could be used to melt the hearts of fair-haired maidens if he used it indiscriminately, and she thought that might explain his general reticence in company.
"I accept your terms. I trust you," said he.
If his smile had been dangerous, those words were more so. She thought she had finally met an honourable and respectable man and was chagrined to work out that he was perhaps one of a small handful (very small) of her acquaintance.
She let out a sigh, and explained all that had happened since the invitation to Jane was received at Longbourn, sparing no detail.
She finally finished her story:
"And so, you see sir, I think this was just a trick to spend a few hours in Mr Bingley's company unencumbered. You know as well as I do that it is nearly impossible for courting couples to have discussions about anything that is real. Between propriety, interfering relatives and friends, people eavesdropping, the time spent dancing, the need to not show too much or too little affection… it is all quite difficult. I believe she would never do anything dishonourable, but I cannot prove it. Our mother is like a force of nature, and you have to bend with the wind like a sapling lest you be ripped out by the roots. I think Jane was just listening and nodding her head at mother's probably egregious suggestions—but I am not certain, and it bothers me extremely."
Elizabeth sat on pins and needles as the man clearly gave the matter a great deal of thought. She was unaccountably happy when he put his chin into his hands and his expression became so thoughtful, she expected to smell smoke. The fact that he had not run out the door to warn Mr Bingley, or yelled at her, or chastised her, or called Miss Bingley to bring her to task was promising.
At long last, he asked, "If your surmise is that your sister is doing something slightly untoward but neither dishonourable nor desperate—do you believe they would make a good match."
It was Elizabeth's turn to give it some real thought, and she owed it to him to give it the same due consideration he had.
"Before this escapade, I would have thought she was too amiable to deal with the man's sisters. Now that I see she has more backbone than I gave her credit for, I believe they could be happy together. To be honest, your friend could use a bit more… resilience in his life, not to mention kindness."
Darcy chuckled, and Elizabeth joined him.
"While I believe they are a good match, and you have your own beliefs—it is actually the two of them who should work it out. The problem is that it is a nearly insurmountable task to do so with the rules of propriety hampering conversation, my mother screaming in one ear, and his sisters screaming in the other."
He gave it some more thought and seemed to come to some sort of decision.
"I will help you, but may I say I am honoured you took me into your confidence. It was… unexpected."
She smiled sheepishly. "Before Jane's escapade, I would not have. These few days made me reconsider. I am long over being called not handsome enough to tempt you to dance. Now I believe you to be a good man."
He sighed. "I was having a very bad night at the end of a bad month, but that is no excuse. I have never apologised, so allow me to do so now."
"Water under the bridge, sir. I trust you, though I could not have said why at the start of this conversation. Perhaps it is because you have put up with Miss Bingley all these years without strangling her, which must recommend your character."
He let out a big belly laugh, and she joined him. They were loud enough for a footman to peek his head in the door, but he left as soon as he saw nothing untoward was occurring.
He finally calmed. "You leave tomorrow?"
"Yes, after church."
"If I need you to stay another day, would you mind?"
"Not at all. Jane and my parents would be happy if we stayed a week. I was the one pushing to leave on Sunday."
"I have an idea, but I do not like to act without thinking it through. I will find a way to speak to you tonight."
"Thank you, Mr Darcy. You are a true gentleman," she said, and surprisingly meant it.
Jane was able to join them for dinner and conversation in the drawing room preceding it. She still looked a little wan, and Elizabeth would have bet a month's allowance she used chalk powder to achieve the effect.
Through some bit of clever trickery, Mr Darcy diverted her to a spot in the corridor where they could not be overheard. She suspected he scouted every house for such concerns five minutes after he entered, since he had a lot of private business to conduct (regardless of how odious Miss Bingley considered it).
He whispered with a voice that would not carry but did not require them to adopt a compromising closeness.
"I believe I have worked out a solution to your concerns, though it is slightly dangerous. It is no worse than your sister's subterfuge but still has its risks. It is up to us to decide—me for Bingley and you for your sister."
They spoke another couple of minutes, and agreed to his plan, then hurried back to dinner before their absence was noticed.
Elizabeth was once again seated near Mr Hurst, but his silence was considered ideal in that situation.
"Jane, wake up," Elizabeth said as she shook her sister awake at midnight. "Don a dressing gown. We have somewhere to go."
Jane looked confused, but Elizabeth just dragged her out of bed half-groggy and handed her the gown. Their hair was still braided for sleep, but Elizabeth decided it would have to do.
"Where are we going, Lizzy?"
"You just have to trust me," Elizabeth said, somewhat chagrined to know that the statement was now required and no longer implied.
Jane did not seem to feel up to arguing. She was still a bit woozy from sleep, which was part of Mr Darcy's evil plan.
Without another word, Elizabeth handed Jane a candle, took her hand, and went through the servant's stairs to the first floor. They emerged in a corridor and with a furtive shuffle, they entered the library, where they encountered a wide-awake Mr Darcy and a confused and befuddled looking Mr Bingley.
They all bowed and curtsied awkwardly out of habit, despite the ridiculousness of the act.
Darcy said, "Bingley… Miss Bennet… Miss Elizabeth and I brought you to hear some things in confidence."
Elizabeth added, "We do this partly for your benefit, but we also have other reasons. Will you both agree to stay for half an hour to discuss things?"
Darcy added, "My valet is watching the corridor, so we will have privacy."
Jane and Bingley looked even more confused, and Elizabeth turned to them.
"Mr Bingley, Jane has some things to tell you that you may or may not like to hear, but it is necessary," then she stepped close to Jane and whispered in her ear everything she knew about the visit to Netherfield and her false illness, finishing with, "You have seen the years of misery that can result from misunderstandings before marriage. I do not insist you come clean with Mr Bingley, but I recommend it."
As Elizabeth stepped back from a chastened looking Jane, Darcy added, "Miss Elizabeth and I have no horse in this race. We will go over to the other corner to act as chaperones, and the two of you need to discuss this. Take as long as you need, but do not waste what may be your only chance for privacy for quite some time."
Feeling somewhat self-satisfied with what they had wrought, the two went over and sat on a small sofa near where they had the discussion earlier in the day. The library was big enough that they could see the other couple, but unless they yelled, they would not hear them.
Elizabeth nervously asked what she thought the result would be and was rather shocked by what the Derbyshire gentleman had to say.
"I could care less what Bingley and your sister decide. They are both older than I was when I inherited, so they can make their own decisions and live with them. I am far more interested in what we do with OUR few moments of privacy."
Feeling shy and sheepish, Elizabeth said, "You have proven yourself, sir. I am quite willing to hear anything you have to say, and if you are suffering from any sort of difficulty, I will be as willing to help you as you have been to me."
He stared at her in what would previously have been a disconcerting manner, but she had never been afraid of him and had no intentions of starting the practice. Elizabeth patiently waited, knowing he must have something difficult to say.
He finally huffed and said, "I have been gnawing on a problem for some time now. You see, I have a conflict between all of the things my parents taught me to do, all the things society says I should do, all the things my family expects me to do, all the things I believed as recently as last summer—and what I WANT to do."
She gave him the courtesy of thinking through what he was asking, though his question seemed frightfully short on details about the actual conflict. She assumed he would work his way up to it eventually, just as it had taken her some time to work her way up to her mother's untoward suggestions.
"May I ask a few clarifying questions? You have yet to describe your actual difficulty, but I should like to set the stage for you."
"Of course."
"Is your estate well run? Would your tenants and tradesmen give you a good character? For that matter, would your housekeeper? Are your land and investments well managed, and as good or better than when you inherited? Do servants stay for multiple generations, or are you losing them to the mills, mines, or cities? Do you support the poor, as well as widows, orphans, and other unfortunates?"
He chuckled. "I should have you speak to my housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds. She has known me since I was four years old, and she will swear I could pass all of those tests with room to spare."
She smiled. "If that be the case, you have done your duty and more. You should look to your own comfort, your own happiness, your own desires. Duty should only take precedence over happiness if there is a real conflict, but I cannot imagine you will ever fail in your duty. It is not your nature."
He chewed on it a moment, and asked, "What would your answer be if I took a wife that society and some of the least important members of my family thought was inadequate, and we might both suffer censure over it?"
She frowned. "That is hard to say, exactly. I have very mismatched parents, though their mismatch is mostly in intelligence and temperament, not in station. They have been miserable so long I sometimes think they enjoy their misery. That said, I would never recommend a terribly unbalanced marriage. They lead to misery of the acutest kind… take my word for it."
He started to speak but she held her hand to silence him.
"I am not quite finished. If you want a real answer, tell me just how inadequate your candidate is. What is wrong with her?"
He gave her his devastating smile that he only seemed to use for special occasions. "She has no dowry, no connections, four sisters, an indolent father, a screechy mother (though no worse than most of my aunts), and a beautiful but apparently conniving sister."
Elizabeth gasped and stared at him in wonder. "Do you know another one of those?"
He chuckled and reached across to take her hands in his. "I am barely surviving the one I have. A second might kill me!"
She stared at him in wonder, unconsciously rubbing his hands with her thumbs.
"Your duty is to your wife, your children, and your happiness. If your wife cannot manage your society, it is time to question whether you really want to be in that society in the first place. I know I have never aspired to the kind of society that rejects kind and honourable people over issues of fortune or connections."
He laughed and gave her another devastating smile. "That solves my conundrum. All that remains is to make my lady fall madly in love with me. Do you think it possible?"
She smiled, and blushed though nobody was likely to see it in the candlelight. "She is well on her way… in fact, even though she was not quite aware at the time and would have denied it if the thought occurred to her—she arrived some time ago."
"You love me?" he asked in breathless wonder.
"Much to my surprise, I do."
It seemed the most natural thing in the world when they both leaned over until their lips converged in the sweetest of kisses. It was sublime and exciting and frightening all at the same time, but it left her breathless and feeling that everything was so-so-so right.
"Will you?" he asked shyly.
"I will," she answered with a big smile.
Since all their questions had been answered, and they really had nothing to do until the other couple finished their discussion, some more kissing seemed as good a way to pass the time as any. It was not as if they were going to play cards or chess by candlelight.
"Darcy," they heard some time later, though neither could say how long it was aside from the fact it was still dark.
With a sigh, they abandoned their little paradise with the uncomfortable knowledge that the next time they were in a library at midnight it would be a different library, they would likely have far less clothing, and it would be an interminable interval before it came to pass.
They wandered over to Bingley and Jane, her hand on his arm as if it was made for it.
"Well?" Darcy asked when they arrived.
Bingley looked at Jane and she nodded.
"It took us about five minutes to resolve Miss Bennet's scheme. It pales in comparison to what Caroline has done just since we came to Meryton, and to be honest, it all worked out for the best. Since then, we have been taking advantage of this small private interlude to really talk. It was …"
Jane finished, "… refreshing. We have been honest about the deficiencies of ourselves, our families, our own excessive complaisance and lack of resolution… well, everything."
"We decided our course together. Tomorrow, I will ask Mr Bennet for permission to call on Jane specifically for the purpose of courtship. Even though she is of age, we should show him the respect. Then we will court in Meryton if we can without being driven mad…"
"… or I will go to the Gardiners, if necessary," Jane finished, "we want to get this right."
Bingley finished, "If things go as we both hope, we will be engaged by New Years."
Elizabeth jumped across and hugged Jane fiercely, so happy to learn that her subterfuge was not as bad as she feared, while Darcy shook Bingley's hand and gave him a backslap for good measure.
Elizabeth said, "I am so happy for both of you. I truly believe you will have some difficulty escaping both of your disagreeable relatives, but you can be truly happy together. I do hope you become engaged …"
"Thank you, Lizzy."
Elizabeth laughed and continued, "… it has a lot to recommend it."
"WHAT?" both members of the other couple exclaimed together (which was admittedly a good sign).
"We are engaged," Darcy said, then took Elizabeth's hand possessively just to make the point.
It took a good ten minutes for the startled exclamations and expressions of shock, surprise, and happiness to be adequately expressed.
Another five minutes stopping Bingley from dragging the butler out of bed to get Champaign from the wine cellar left them ready to return to bed.
Elizabeth and Jane retraced their steps, but since neither had really slept at all for a week, they both fell into Jane's bed and did not wake until it was time to return to Longbourn.
Instead of the chaise, they took the Darcy coach back to Longbourn. Elizabeth laughingly asserted her intended was staking his claim, and he had no qualms with the assertion.
Permission was asked and quickly granted for the engagement and the courtship, and Mr Bennet could not help but laugh at Lizzy and Mary's panic from earlier in the week. It was fortunate he did so out of Darcy's hearing, but it did not escape his notice that his second eldest could make a scathing remark when she felt like it. He was fairly complaisant though, as she rarely felt like it, and in a month's time she would be away from home anyway.
When Mr Wickham made his entry into society, he had been there a fortnight spreading his poison while Darcy and Lizzy were shopping for her trousseau. They return to find that Jane had heard his poisoned story, discovered his perfidy, and got her father and Sir William to buy enough vowels to send him to debtor's prison for five years.
With that demonstration, the Bingley sisters decided the better part of valour was away from Jane Bennet, so their last act in Meryton was managing the ball where Bingley proposed and was accepted.
New Year's Day saw Mrs Darcy, and Mrs Bingley, sharing the ceremony and wedding breakfast, thus saving Mr Bennet all sorts of trouble and expense.
For her trouble, Mrs Darcy was forced to learn to travel on horseback—much to her eventual pleasure.