*sigh* NaNoWriMo is going slower than I'd like, thanks to sick kids. My 9mo got a double ear infection, then my 3yo got a very violent stomach bug. BUT I finally was able to get the next chapter done. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 11
Elizabeth made her way down the stairs towards the breakfast room at Netherfield Hall. The sun was just beginning to peek over the top of Oakham Mount in the distance, and she hoped she had risen sufficiently early to avoid seeing any of the other inhabitants.
As she walked past the hallway that led towards the front entrance, she was a bit surprised to see a carriage being loaded with several trunks. The though that perhaps Darcy had decided to leave Netherfield in favor of London caused a slight smile to cross her face, and it was with that expression of cheer that she entered the breakfast room.
To her slight dismay, the only other occupant - aside from the servants, of course - was the very object of her thoughts. Darcy immediately stood upon her entrance and bowed in greeting. "Miss Elizabeth," he said in his usual grave tone.
Elizabeth gave a slight curtsy. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
He returned to his seat, and she moved over to the sideboard, which held an array of breakfast options. Selecting a delicate china plate from the sideboard, Elizabeth used a silver fork to pick a slice of bread before turning her attention to the selection of preserves. She settled on strawberry and dipped a silver spoon into the jar, scooping a generous amount onto her plate.
Elizabeth then selected a few slices of cold meats and a boiled egg from the serving dishes. The meats included ham and delicate slices of smoked salmon. She seasoned her meal with a pinch of salt and pepper from matching silver shakers.
Elizabeth's attentiveness to the details of her meal continued as she perused the assortment of breakfast pastries. With a pair of silver tongs, she carefully selected a buttery croissant, its golden crust inviting her to savor its flaky layers. The croissant joined the other items on her plate.
A porcelain teapot, accompanied by a cup and saucer, was positioned nearby. She carefully poured the pot, letting the steaming liquid fill her cup, and added a dash of milk from a small porcelain jug.
With her plate and tea in hand, Elizabeth made her way to one of the beautifully upholstered chairs around the dining table. As she began to eat, she was surprised when Darcy interrupted the silence by remarking on how early she had arisen that morning.
"I am just taking a small meal before I go to Longbourn to speak with my father. And yourself? I understood those in London often kept town hours and were rarely awake this early in the morning."
Grimacing slightly, Darcy replied, "Not I. I spend most of my time at Pemberley, my estate. It was only recently that I went to London, and I am still accustomed to rising early with the tenants and servants."
In order to forestall further conversation, Darcy hastily changed the subject. Gesturing down at her bandaged feet, peeking out from beneath her dress, he asked, "How were you planning to return to Longbourn? I'm afraid Bingley's carriage is being used today to convey his sister to London."
"Oh?" Elizabeth did her best to keep her tone of voice mildly interested and not betray the relief she felt at the news. "I am assuming Miss Bingley, as Mrs. Hurst did not say anything of the matter to me last night when we spoke."
"Yes, Miss Bingley has chosen to return to London for the time being."
Although she was eager to know what exactly had occurred to make Miss Bingley leave the house in which Darcy was residing, Elizabeth knew she would rather eat her bonnet that reveal that curiosity to such a condescending gentleman.
"It is no trouble; I shall walk to Longbourn."
"Walk?" Darcy exclaimed, his eyebrows raising high on his head. "But what about your injured feet?"
"They are almost entirely healed, thank you." Elizabeth hesitated briefly, then grudgingly admitted, "I believe I owe some of that to the ointment you provided. I offer you my gratitude."
Darcy looked as though he were going to reply, but the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed the hour, putting a premature end to the conversation. Elizabeth quickly finished the few bites of food that remained on her plate before excusing herself from the table.
The walk to Longbourn was more painful than Elizabeth had anticipated, and her feet were throbbing quite fiercely by the time her home rose into view behind a small hill. She entered the house through the kitchen door and sank gratefully onto a chair by the fireplace.
"Miss Lizzy, what on earth?"
Hill's strident tones caused Elizabeth to smile as she pulled off her boots and looked at the soles of her feet with a wince. While the cuts had not reopened, they were definitely red and painful.
"I needed to speak with Papa, Hill. It couldn't wait, and Mr. Bingley's carriage wasn't available."
Mrs. Hill's stern expression softened as she knelt down to examine Elizabeth's injured feet. "You should have sent a note with Jamie, at the very least, and your father could have sent the Longbourn carriage for you."
"Not if Mama had anything to say about it."
Hill pursed her lips but chose to ignore the protest. "Now, let me tend to your feet, and I will see to it that you are more comfortable. It would not do for your father to see you in such a state."
Elizabeth allowed the housekeeper-combined-lady's-maid to bathe her feet and dress them with ointment and fresh bandages. Sally, the young scullery maid, was sent to fetch a pair of Elizabeth's house slippers, which were placed onto her tender feet.
Feeling refreshed, Elizabeth gingerly made her way to her father's bookroom, knowing that he would be ensconced inside, taking refuge from the female chatter that was echoing from the drawing room throughout the entire house.
"Come in, Lizzy," was his reply to her particular set of raps on the door.
She took a deep breath and entered the room, bracing herself for the conversation to follow.
Half an hour later, Elizabeth finished her recounting of the conversation Mrs. Hurst had broached with her the night before. "I told her I wished to speak with you, Papa, before saying anything."
Mr. Bennet sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, fingers massaging his temples. "What do you think, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth chose her words carefully. "I believe that Jane's affections for Mr. Bingley are sincere, and he clearly cares for her as well…." Her voice trailed off.
"But…?" he prompted after several moments of silence.
"It is all just so complicated!" she cried, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation. "There are too many unknowns."
"Such as?"
"What if she wants to marry him? Would she be able to take on duties as a mistress? He says that he would not expect her to perform wifely duties -" Elizabeth turned quite red at this, but forged on - "but how can we trust that he will keep his word? Once they are married, she would be entirely in his power, and we would be helpless to protect her. We know nothing of his character."
Mr. Bennet adjusted his position in his chair and cleared his throat. "That is a valid point. We may be able to ask Mr. Phillips if something can be written into the marriage articles. Perhaps, if you are willing, we could write that you are provided a home in the same residence as Jane for as long as she lives.""
"Would that even be legal?"
He pursed his lips. "That would be for my brother Phillips to discover. We may not be able to prevent him from doing what he wishes, but another idea is that we could impose a financial penalty for certain things. A child, for example, could be left an extremely large legacy to be paid out."
"That still wouldn't keep Jane safe."
"Being here at Longbourn won't keep Jane safe either, my dear. Either way, she will still die." Mr. Bennet's voice broke slightly on the last word.
Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears. "At least here she would certainly be surrounded by people who loved her and would not mistreat her!"
"Mistreatment can take many forms. What would Jane's life be like here at Longbourn?"
"I would be here," Elizabeth replied fiercely.
"Could you tend her day and night? We would not be able to afford private nurses, like Mr. Bingley could. Nor a personal physician from London. Are you willing to change her soiled bed linens when she becomes too ill to use a chamber pot? Our maids will not be able to do that and their own duties."
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and he pressed on. "And what else? Think of Euripides: 'the tongue is mightier than the blade.' How would your mother's reaction to Jane be any better or worse than Mr. Bingley's potential treatment?"
Sudden visions of the future filled Elizabeth's vision:
Mrs. Bennet bemoaning Jane's death, her voice echoing into the chamber above-stairs. Elizabeth sitting at Jane's bedside, gazing longingly out through the window towards Oakham Mount. A foul odor suddenly emanating from the bed, reminiscent of the smells at Bethlem Hospital. Jane, wasting away, weeping at her mother's cruel words.
"I see your point," she said hoarsely.
"Further, if Jane and your mother were to learn of this refusal, they both may never forgive you. Jane may die sooner of a broken heart. You know her capacity for reason and logic is nowhere near strong enough to overcome her deeply-felt emotions."
Sinking further in her chair, Elizabeth bent over and placed her head in her hands. Mr. Bennet delivered the coup de grâce: "With my heir arriving in but a few days, if your mother knew Jane were to not accept Mr. Bingley, she may try to pair him with Jane."
Elizabeth's head shot up from her hands, and she looked at her father with wide-eyed astonishment. "Surely not!"
He smiled wryly. "Your mother's nerves have been my old companions for over twenty years. I fancy myself as intelligent enough to anticipate how she will react to all kinds of situations. She is not a complicated character to figure out."
"So you think she should marry him, then, Papa?"
He furrowed his brow. "Not necessarily."
"But you said -"
"My dear, you and I have debated enough over the years that you should know when I am playing the role of advocatus diaboli, if you, Mary, and the Regent will pardon the papist expression. You were so fixed in your view that she should come back here, and I wanted to you to examine the other option thoroughly.
She gave a weary laugh. "I blame my lack of sleep for my diminished debate skills. That, and my considerable efforts to remain civil to both Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy."
"Ah, yes, I can see how that would use significant mental strength."
"I suppose the fact that Mr. Bingley has sent his sister away is one point in his favor. That, and that he had Mrs. Hurst even discuss the situation with me in advance."
Mr. Bennet nodded. "It certainly is. Before we discuss any of this with Jane - or your mother, for that matter - let me speak with Mr. Phillips. I will also send a letter to Mr. Gardiner today and ask him to make inquiries into Mr. Bingley and his reputation."
"You? Write a letter on the same day you've thought of it?" teased Elizabeth.
"I will even send it back with you," he retorted. "If you will wait for about an hour or so, you can deposit it in Meryton on your way back to Netherfield."
She nodded and left her father to his correspondence. Her feet were still aching somewhat, so she went to the drawing room where she could rest them on a small stool in front of a comfortable chair near the fireplace. She nestled into the comfortable cushions and began to read the book she had swiped from her father's library.
It was in this state a quarter of an hour later that she was discovered by her mother and three younger sisters.
"Oh, Lizzy! What are you doing here, you ungrateful girl? If you were going to leave Jane's side, I should have left Lydia at Netherfield to pursue Mr. Darcy!"
Mrs. Bennet's strident tones jarred Elizabeth from the pages of Milton, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
Fortunately, Lydia was able to divert her mother's attentions. "La, Mama, I would not wish to be cooped up at Netherfield on such a fine day when I could be going to Meryton to visit with the officers! Denny is leaving for London soon, and no on I know would wish to miss bidding him farewell."
"Certainly not me!" cried Kitty.
"But Lydia, darling -"
Whatever the Bennet matron was going to say was interrupted by Mr. Bennet's entrance. "Ah, Lizzy, here you are. On your way back to Netherfield, please have this letter sent by express," - he handed her a wax-sealed envelope - "deliver this note to your uncle Phillips," - he handed her a folded paper - "and deliver this to Mr. Bingley."
The last was a piece of folded paper that was sealed closed. Elizabeth looked at it curiously, but her father shook his head slightly.
"What on earth could all of that be for?"
Mrs. Bennet began to reach for the stack of missives in Elizabeth's hand, but Mr. Bennet interjected with, "Mrs. Bennet, have I yet told you about the guest we are to have visit us next week?"
She whipped her head around and stared at him. "A guest? Next week?"
"Yes, I believe that is what I said, is it not, Mary?"
Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he continued, "let us return to our visitor. I imagine you will have much to do in order to get ready."
"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in. I would hardly call her a guest, however, and I do not need an entire week to prepare for her arrival."
"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman and a stranger."
"Oh, Mr. Bingley!" squealed Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and Mr. Bennet said with exasperations, "Did I not just say he was a stranger, madam? It is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life."
This roused a general astonishment, and Mr. Bennet grinned with pleasure at having his wife and two youngest daughters eagerly question him on the matter.
After amusing himself for some time with their curiosity, he finally said, "Now, I think I've shared enough information for one day. I believe I shall keep this man's identity to myself for a while. Perhaps until the day of his arrival?"
"A secret? Why on earth would you keep it a secret?" screeched his wife.
"Well, my dear, as they say, 'Secrecy is the chastity of friendship.' Let us keep our friendship strong and alive for as long as possible."
Elizabeth felt a twinge of pity for her mother, who began to sputter in indignation at this reply. Mr. Bennet continued to amuse himself, responding to her protests with nothing but witticisms that she could not understand.
"'The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown'."
"Fear, Mr. Bennet? Should we be afraid of this stranger? Is that why it must be secret? I shall be the sole of discretion!"
"'Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead'."
"Dead? Dead? What, are we to be murdered in our beds by this guest of yours? Mr. Bennet, I insist you tell me what is happening, as I do not appreciate not knowing what is going on in my own home!"
"'Knowledge itself is power,' my dear Mrs. Bennet."
After ten minutes of their bickering, Mrs. Bennet gave a howl of fury and stormed to her bedroom, calling for Hill and her smelling salts. Lydia and Kitty followed behind, while Mary sat down at the piano and began to pound out a mournful dirge. Mr. Bennet watched the three ladies go up the stairs with a bit of a smirk, turned and winked at Elizabeth, then sauntered down the hall back to his bookroom.
It was as if a veil had been pulled back from Elizabeth's face, and she saw her parents for the first time with new eyes. Her father's sarcastic humor and dry wit were no longer evidence of intelligence, but cruelty. Her mother's nerves did not signify her vulgarity, but rather bore witness to the neglect and disdain with which she was treated by her husband.
An image of Mrs. Hurst fidgeting with her bracelets after her husband's cutting remarks at dinner the night prior came to Elizabeth's mind, and she was struck with the realization that there was very little disparity between her father's treatment of his and Mr. Hurst's. The only difference was her father cushioned his callousness with a smirk and a laugh.
For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt true compassion for the woman who gave birth to her. What would it be like, being married to someone who constantly treated you as though you offered nothing to the world, other than as an object of ridicule? she wondered.
These musings were interrupted by the return of the two youngest Bennet daughters, who had donned walking books and cloaks.
"Lizzy, would you like us to walk back with you towards Meryton?"
The three girls walked quickly, and it wasn't long before they had arrived at the first shop. For Lydia and Kitty's art, their eyes were immediately wandering up the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet, indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could distract them from this endeavor.
But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentleman-like appearance, walking with an officer on the other side of the street. All were struck by the handsome man's air. Lydia was determined to find out who he was, and she pulled Kitty with her across the street under the pretense of wanting something in the opposite shop.
Mr. Denny addressed them directly and entreated permission to introduce his friend. "This is my new superior officer, Major Wickham."