Mrs. Bennet had overheard Jane and Elizabeth planning to walk to Netherfield that afternoon and she meant to intrude. Not to walk with them, heaven forbid, at her age scaling Oakham Mount, let alone descending the other side, would do her in – no, she meant to impose on Mr. Darcy and have him send for his coach to transport them to Netherfield and back. So, when she saw him and his horse making their way to the stable where Lizzy was waiting – he was so punctual in making his morning call, you could set your clock by him – she hastened, if her hurried amble could be called that, down the path from the kitchen door towards the stable, waving her handkerchief, and calling "Oh, Mr. Darcy, yoo-hoo, Mr. Darcy!"
Elizabeth was more surprized than Mr. Darcy. He was rapidly reaching the point where nothing a Bennet did surprized him; whereas, she, in her lifetime of knowing her mother, had never known to her to exert herself to such an extent.
It was lucky that Mr. Darcy maintained his sang-froid for his future mother-in-law's momentum had exceeded her ability to brake, and if he had not caught her, her inevitable tumble would have led to her rolling into the dung heap on the other side of the stable door.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Darcy! You saved my life," Mrs. Bennet cooed at Mr. Darcy as she clutched at his arms. "My hero!"
Mr. Darcy with exquisite delicacy tried to extricate himself from the barnacle-like grasp of Mrs. Bennet without mistakenly touching, or heaven forbid, grasping, any more of that lady's body as was strictly proper and necessary and as he did, he murmured words the like of 'glad to be of service, ma'am.' Looking over Mrs. Bennet's head at Elizabeth, he pleaded at her with his eyes for succor but she only laughed silently at him and shook her head.
Mr. Darcy was rescued by Jane, who had followed her mother down from the house. "Come Mama," she said as she peeled Mrs. Bennet off Mr. Darcy, "I'll walk you to the house. You'll be in need of some tea to revive you after your little mishap." Soon Jane had Mrs. Bennet free and turned back towards the house.
Mrs. Bennet and Jane had not gone more than a few paces when Mrs. Bennet spun around and called out "Oh, Mr. Darcy! I almost forgot. My daughters …" here she waved vaguely at Jane and Elizabeth "… and I were going to walk to Netherfield this afternoon to see how my younger daughters are getting on and now I find my heart all aflutter and I was wondering if you could make your coach available as Mr. Bennet's horses are all needed on the farm." She was out of breath after that run of words but Mrs. Bennet was still able to smile most beseechingly.
Off to the side Mr. Darcy could see Elizabeth shaking her head. He said "I would be pleased to, ma'am."
After Mrs. Bennet and Jane were out of earshot Mr. Darcy could see Elizabeth moving to upbraid him. No doubt she did not want her mother transported to Netherfield. He grinned at her and said "When I needed rescue you laughed at me – well 'turnabout is fair play' my dear." He offered his arm and after a minor harumph she took it. "Now let us follow your mother and sister – I could use a bit of tea myself to settle my fluttering heart." This time the harumph was a little louder.
As they walked Mr. Darcy could smell a distinct odour of rose and something else familiar but which he could not quite place. It was not Elizabeth's scent; he was intimately familiar with that. Some of Mrs. Bennet's scent must have rubbed off on him. He hoped that it dissipated before he got back to Netherfield, his valet would snort if his clothes smelt of anything other than Elizabeth's lavender.
-}{-
Perhaps of all the Bennets it was Mrs. Bennet who had the most realistic view of the foreboding future facing the ladies of that family; at least as it stood before those miraculous days when Elizabeth met Mr. Darcy at Pemberley and Mr. Bingley rescued Lydia.
Before those blessed days:
Mr. Bennet cared nothing for the future extending beyond the turn of his next page and his next sip of port;
Lydia and Kitty were lost in daydreams of dashing, handsome, young red coated officers who would carry them off to an endless series of parties and balls;
Mary wandered alone in her mind as she reached out for the perfect articulations of those thoughts, both musical and literary, which were just out of her grasp;
Jane and Elizabeth, with the wreckage of the most advantageous matches either of them could wish for receding in their wakes, still thought that something might turn up; there being the example of Charlotte Collins, née Lucas, offering hope, forlorn that it might be;
Only Mrs. Bennet foresaw what the future would hold for her and her daughters when Mr. Bennet lay mouldering in his grave.
The hedgerows.
Now Mrs. Bennet knew there would be no actual living in hedgerows, all the same, it was a useful metaphor for what life would actually be like for them.
Between them, in their widowhoods, she and her sister Philips would have ten thousand pounds and a very nice cottage in Meryton, which Mr. Philips had purchased against the day his widow would no longer be able to live back of his office. Those monies would be safely invested in the consols paying three hundred pounds per annum which would give the two of them, and one of her daughters (likely Mary, thought to be the least likely daughter to marry), a comfortable living. There would be no frivol, no holidays to Bath, no shopping trips to London, but a comfortable living all the same.
But with five daughters unmarried – seven women squeezed into that cottage, eking out a living on those three hundred pounds – that living would be very tight indeed.
Hence Mrs. Bennet had done what she could to marry her daughters off. She had made mistakes. She should have trained her daughters in those household arts she had been trained in by her mother, and in which Lady Lucas was training her daughters. Mastery of those arts might make up in some small way for her daughters' lack of dowries. She should have warned her daughters off charming, but penniless, red coated officers – in her day she had enjoyed military flirtations but when push came to shove she had set her sights on a gentleman with two thousand a year (a fat lot that had done her). She should have pushed pious Mary on Mr. Collins instead of impertinent Elizabeth. She should have drank less, and talked even less, at the Netherfield ball – more than one of her circle had intimated that her drunken pronouncements had scared Mr. Bingley away from Jane. Her latest mistake, perhaps her greatest one, had been failing to see that the tide had turned thanks to the miracles wrought by Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy respectively.
It had taken Lady Lucas indirectly (by saying how she wished she had someone like Mrs. Longden to bring her daughter, Maria, out) and her sister Philips directly (by figuratively boxing her ears and saying 'thanks to Mr. Bingley for finding Mrs. Longden, and to Mr. Darcy for retaining Mrs. Longden plus marrying Elizabeth, all your daughters will make good matches; can't you see how that benefits us?').
It took Mrs. Bennet awhile to come around, she still smarted about Mrs. Longden's insubordination towards her, and she was sure Mr. Darcy was contemptuous of her, but – oh what a big but – she and her sister would not have to spend their widowhoods stranded in Meryton – no, they could spend the year progressing from the home of one daughter to that another (and Lizzy would have two!, one in London!), enjoying the best of hospitality, as was their due; always keeping in mind that old saying that 'guests, like fish, smell after three months'. Or maybe it was three weeks? Whatever; they would be the best of guests, you wouldn't even know they were there; and if by chance they wore out their welcome, they could always retreat to the cottage in Meryton (or maybe a son-in-law or two might wish to set them up in Bath or some fashionable seaside resort). It was a very pleasant future to contemplate.
And that was why Mrs. Bennet was bound for Netherfield – to ensure that future came to pass. She had mistakenly taken the side of Mr. Bennet (blast her antipathy towards Mrs. Longden!) against her youngest daughters and now she had to make it up with them. Whatever it took, apologies, compliments, grovelling, etc. she would do - she would even butter up Mrs. Longden. She had until Michaelmas and she vowed to herself that all her daughters (even Lizzy!) would always be happy to see their mother and aunt on their doorsteps.
And as if that task was not great enough – there was Mr. Bingley. There must be more of a reason for him staying at Netherfield than his desire to learn how to farm; she was sure that reason was Jane. Somehow, she would bring him and Jane together, even if it meant trapping the two of them in a locked room.
-}{-
The forward-facing seat of Mr. Darcy's coach was much, much more comfortable, and wider than the one in Mr. Bennet's years older coach, and it would have easily accommodated Mrs. Bennet and her two oldest daughters while Mr. Darcy sat opposite them but Mrs. Bennet squirmed and muttered to herself until she finally said "Lizzy, you are crowding me; I need room to breathe. Go sit by your betrothed. Don't worry about propriety, sir; I'll keep a weather eye on you."
Elizabeth, with a glare at her mother, who ignored her, hunched over as she moved to shift seats – large as Mr. Darcy's coach was, it was still an awkward transition – and right when she was in the middle, the coach gave a small jolt, causing Elizabeth to sway and Mrs. Bennet took the opportunity to give Elizabeth's hip a little push. Elizabeth ended up sitting on Mr. Darcy's lap.
Elizabeth would have immediately levitated off Mr. Darcy's lap; she meant to; but Mr. Darcy was hugging her tightly to him. She could feel his breath on the nape of her. It felt so right, she wanted to settle in – but it was so wrong with her mother and sister sitting opposite her.
Neither Mrs. Bennet nor Jane was looking at Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet was staring out the window at the scenery passing by as if she were on a tour of the Lakes rather than passing by trees and fields she had seen tens of thousands of times already. Jane was suffering sympathetic embarrassment for her sister – she blushed, she did not know where to look.
A part of Mr. Darcy – a part that was generally under greater regulation than even his pride – was thanking the gods for the bounty that had fallen into his lap, so to speak, as he hugged Elizabeth tightly to him. For her safety, to keep her secure, you understand. As he inhaled Elizabeth's scent Mr. Darcy's wild man within was all for dumping the ladies sitting opposite and heading north to Gretna Green. As he exhaled, Mr. Darcy's sober, civilized mien gained the upper hand and he whispered into his beloved's ear that perhaps she could slide off his lap to the left.
The whole incident took not ten seconds, seconds that seemed like minutes, and left the two sisters embarrassed; Mr. Darcy disconcerted, albeit pleasantly so; and Mrs. Bennet looking like the cat that got the cream.