Sibson Inn
Tuesday, August 18th, 1812
The church clock was chiming eleven as the carriage lurched and rolled out of the inn's yard and onto the road. It was a late start, but Elizabeth felt disinclined to complain – better a few more hours lingering in the comfortable inn, than wet and cold and muddy on the side of the road when a wheel or axle broke in the mud. The weather was not as sunny as one could wish, heavy clouds obscuring the sky in large swathes, granting only brief periods of drying warmth.
Darcy had regarded the road before setting out and given orders to the coachman to go at an easy pace and plan to only travel twenty, or perhaps twenty-five, miles that day, depending on when they could find an appropriate inn along the road. Hopefully the roads would be drier on the following day and they would be able to make better time then.
Elizabeth found herself delightfully relaxed and cheerful as the carriage once again wended its way north. The views outside were not particularly interesting, as this part of the country was flat and sparsely settled, but the company was pleasant, and she still relished the pleasure of riding in a carriage with such fine springs and plush seats.
Lydia, too, had managed to maintain improved manners for yet another day, and was currently questioning Captain Scofield about his family's home in Suffolk.
"I am a fourth son," the captain explained, "and my father owns a modest estate which is some twenty miles from the ocean."
"How far is it from Town?" Elizabeth asked before Lydia could.
"It is about one hundred miles, which means that it takes more than a day to travel from my home to London."
"Do you like London?" Lydia asked timidly.
The captain smiled and said, "I like it well enough, though based on our conversations, not as much as you and Sir Christopher do. I enjoy the theaters and the museums and even some of the parties, but I also enjoy the country and riding and shooting."
"Are you … do you intend to return to war, sir?" Lydia asked.
"If you and I marry, no. If not, then yes. My father has four daughters, three of whom are not yet married, and thus his savings are set aside for their dowries. I cannot expect my father to support me after purchasing a commission for me."
Lydia looked thoughtful, and Elizabeth asked, "Did you, perchance, serve with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy's cousin?"
"I did. Indeed, we were in adjacent tents in quarters during the winter of 1809-1810."
"Fitzwilliam has mentioned you more than once as a most effective officer," Darcy remarked.
Scofield chuckled and said, "I am honored at your cousin's praise, but I wonder if part of his enthusiasm has to do with my pack of hunting dogs. We spent many a pleasant afternoon hunting hares together; they provided much needed meat for the officers' mess…"
The conversation continued in this vein and then veered off back to Suffolk and its coastline, which was, according to the captain, a complex combination of heaths and marshes and rivers and estuaries. Elizabeth, who had never even seen the sea, was fascinated.
The coachman had been careful not to over weary the horses, and thus it was not until four hours past noon that they pulled into the courtyard of the Ram Jam Inn, located on the west side of the road.
"Why is it called the Ram Jam Inn?" Lydia demanded in astonishment.
Darcy actually chuckled at this and said, "Perhaps we can talk about that at dinner, Miss Lydia."
/
The Phillips' House
Meryton
Charles Bingley trod up the shallow steps of the Phillips home and knocked sharply on the door. A maid opened it but a moment later and took his hat and cane while an older woman gestured for him to follow her.
He did so, and when he rounded the corner and stepped into the drawing room, his eyes flashed from one side of the room to the other until they settled on the lovely Miss Jane Bennet, who was seated on a sofa, her hands folded in her lap, with Miss Mary and Miss Kitty protectively on either side of her.
"Mr. Bingley!" a feminine voice cried out.
He turned away from Miss Bennet with some difficulty and found himself bowing toward Mrs. Phillips, whose broad face was wreathed with smiles.
"Mrs. Phillips, it is wonderful to see you again," he said. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."
"Oh, it is our pleasure, our absolute pleasure! I am so very glad that you are back in Hertfordshire, sir! Indeed, we are all very pleased to see you again!"
She said this with a significant glance at her eldest niece, and Bingley winced a little on the girl's behalf. It truly was not fair that Miss Bennet was being pressured and pushed by those around her to marry him; he wanted her to wed because she genuinely cared for him, not because her relations wanted her to.
"Mr. Phillips!" he said a moment later, smiling with relief as the ladies' uncle entered the drawing room. "It is good to see you again, sir."
"It is a pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Bingley," Phillips replied. The man was some years older than his wife, stout, red faced, and hardly a member of the intelligentsia, but Bingley knew him to be a hardworking and honest solicitor.
"Well, do sit down," Mrs. Phillips urged, and then turned a gimlet eye on her nieces and said, "My dear Mary, will you not move to a different seat so that Mr. Bingley might sit next to Jane?"
Mary's eyes flashed, and Bingley said hastily, "No, no, I will take this chair, if that is amenable to you, Mrs. Phillips."
The lady nodded, though obviously with some reluctance, and he sat down on a wooden chair across from Mary, while Mr. Phillips took a wingbacked chair near the fireplace, and Mrs. Phillips bustled off into the corridor, presumably to determine whether dinner would be ready on time.
Silence fell for an uncomfortable minute. Bingley had never had trouble uttering glib and conventional pronouncements, but with Miss Bennet gazing at him gravely, any words withered before they could be said.
"Did you spend the summer in London, Mr. Bingley?" Kitty asked brightly, breaking the silence.
He turned to her with relief and said, "Part of it, but I also spent six weeks in Scarborough, where I was born and grew up."
"That is on the sea, is it not?" Mary asked.
He nodded and said, with perhaps a little too exuberant enthusiasm, "It is indeed! It is a spa of some renown, though I admit that I find the supposedly healthful waters to be entirely repugnant."
Jane smiled for the first time and said, "Our friends the Longs visited Bath some time ago and said the same thing, that the waters there, while perhaps healthy, tasted dreadful."
A maid entered at this moment and called the party to dinner. Mr. Bingley, seeing that Mrs. Phillips was still out of sight, hesitantly held his arm out to Jane, as the eldest lady in the room. She took it, a trifle uneasily, and he immediately held out his left arm toward Mary and smiled hopefully at her. She took the arm with pleasure, and Bingley felt Jane relax a little.
Mr. Phillips took his younger niece's arm, and the party made their stately way into the modest dining room.
Bingley was not surprised when he was placed next to Jane at the table, with Mr. Phillips at the head, Mrs. Phillips at the foot, and the other two Bennet girls on the other side.
The table was, as convention required, covered but not crowded. Bingley observed with pleasure the variety on offer; two roasted chickens dominated the table, a heavenly smelling ragout sat near to hand, mashed potatoes towered in their bowl, while roasted vegetables and steaming rolls filled the remaining places. Bingley had always enjoyed an excellent appetite, and there were few foods at which he would turn up his nose, but – perhaps a remnant of his youth as a mere tradesman's son – he preferred humbler English dishes to the fanciful concoctions of the most expensive French cooks.
The food was enjoyable, but the conversation less so. Bingley's usual easiness in social situations was strained. He was acutely aware of Miss Bennet's tension, vibrating almost imperceptibly at his shoulder. It did not help that Mrs. Phillips, well-meaning and blatant, kept trying to maneuver him into speaking with Miss Bennet, or Jane into speaking with him. He found himself more and more grateful for Miss Bennet's keen-witted younger sisters, who would draw the conversation back to themselves. It was in this way that he learned of all the goings-on in town, Mary's practice with her new sheet music, and Kitty's successful petition of her mother for new drawing supplies.
At last Mrs. Phillips, watching the plates of the diners, judged everyone's hunger sated and rose. Bingley watched the ladies leave the room and settled back in his chair as Mr. Phillips poured two glasses of port. The stiffness with which he had held himself during dinner finally eased from his shoulders as he accepted his glass with polite thanks only to rush back again as his host spoke.
"So, Mr. Bingley, given that my brother Bennet is out of town, I would like to ask on my eldest niece's behalf, what are your intentions?"
Bingley, who had just taken a sip of wine, sucked the liquid into his lungs and coughed mightily. Phillips leaned forward, his eyes narrowed with concern, and Bingley waved him away.
"I am well," he finally gasped and pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "My apologies. Your question took me by surprise, though I suppose it should not have."
Phillips leaned back and laced his hands around his stomach. "I am going to be blunt with you, Mr. Bingley. Much as I respect my brother by marriage, I have always decried his indifference to the well-being and safety of his daughters. Obviously my concerns have proven valid given Lydia's idiotic elopement. I love all my nieces, and Jane is a very special young lady. You spent a great deal of time with her last autumn, paid her an abundance of attention, and then you left without so much as a farewell, and I … well, to be clear, sir, I will not tolerate a repeat of such behavior. Is that clear?"
Bingley nodded soberly. "I do understand. I was a coward and a weakling, and I permitted myself to be convinced by my family and friend that Miss Bennet did not truly care about me. I did not trust my own heart and was too … mild and weak to return in order to determine Miss Bennet's true feelings. I still love her very much, but I also recognize that she … she has every reason to be angry with me. Indeed, I would entirely understand if she sends me away, and if she does, I will go."
Phillips regarded the younger man gravely, and then nodded his head. "Well, Mr. Bingley, I would like to see Jane well married, and I believe you are a pleasant fellow, if a trifle too uncertain of yourself. However, I will not push Jane to accept your offer, unlike my wife and her sister."
"I do not want you to pressure her in any way," Bingley said firmly. "Indeed, I partly left Hertfordshire because…"
He looked away now and took another sip of wine, struggling to swallow down his emotions. "My friend Darcy assured me that she did not care for me, but that she would be forced ... well, I am aware of the entail on Longbourn. She is such a kind creature, I was afraid that she would feel obligated to marry me."
"To help her mother and sisters," Phillips finished. "I understand your concern, Mr. Bingley. Jane is a noble and caring lady, and certainly many young women have married for money instead of affection. So does she know that you still wish to marry her?"
"She does and has informed me that at this moment she is unwilling to accept my offer."
"That is her right, of course."
"Yes, it is."
/
Dining Parlor
The Ram Jam Inn
Late afternoon sun slanted in through the western windows, dying the yellow room a deep gold. Only tiny puffy clouds with gilded edges adorned the sky in mauve, promising fair weather and good roads for the morrow. Silverware plied busily in many hands flashed golden, catching the sunlight and turning the metal's glow warm.
Elizabeth herself was quiet, working steadily through her plate of beef and potatoes, but her attention was on Lydia, further down the table and far more animated. Her sister's pretty face was lit with the pleasure of her conversation as she held forth to Captain Scofield, listening quietly with a faint smile that Elizabeth rather fancied was indulgent. Though Lydia made a half-hearted effort to divide her attention equally, the previous few days she had favored Sir Christopher with more of her conversation. Today, she seemed more taken with Captain Scofield, plying him with an almost endless stream of questions. The Captain was taking it all in good humor, and Elizabeth smiled to herself.
"Mr. Darcy!" Lydia suddenly exclaimed, "you said that you would tell us how this inn got its name!"
"I do not believe that anyone knows with certainty how the Ram Jam received its name," Mr. Darcy said, "but there are a number of rumors. One is that the inn serves a drink which was brought here by a man native to India, and 'ram jam' is based on words from the Indian tongue. Another has to do with Dick Turpin, the noted highway thief from the last century. The story, which is likely apocryphal, is that the highwayman convinced his landlady to ram and jam her fingers into the holes of barrel of ale in order to draw both mild and bitter ale from the same barrel. She was consequently trapped with her fingers in the holes, and he ran away without paying his bill."
Lydia scrunched her nose and said, "That would be very silly of the landlady!"
"I entirely agree, Miss Lydia," Sir Christopher remarked. "I am confident that you would not be so foolish."
"I have no idea how to pour ale from a barrel anyway," the girl admitted.
"Dick Turpin was quite a rascal," Captain Scofield remarked, "for all that some of the literature of the last century made him out to be a hero."
"I would not call it literature, precisely," Mr. Bennet stated.
This provoked a wide ranging discussion about novels, and trial literature, and the biographies of condemned criminals, and Shakespeare, and Ann Radcliffe. Elizabeth found the entire conversation thoroughly enjoyable and a far cry from the usual conversations around the table at Longbourn, which tended to be dominated by discussions of lace and militia officers.