If I leave out any footnotes, let me know, Fred

Chapter 2 Toil and Trouble

At Longbourn, Jane and Lizzy had been woken by the morning light, despite their late night. They lay together in their four-poster bed discussing their new neighbours. This chiefly involved Jane's happy reflections on the attention shown to her by Mr Bingley.

Lizzy's humbling by Mr Darcy had already been gone over at length by Mrs Bennet and Lydia during the carriage ride home last night, ostensibly for Mr Bennet's information. Lizzy had determined then and there that tomorrow should be a new day. Not a word about Mr Darcy passed Lizzy's lips during her morning conversation with Jane. She would think of him no more. But she feared his insult would be raked over again at breakfast—her mother would not forget so great a slight easily. Mrs Bennet had been the beauty of the shire in her day. A slight to any of her daughters—who she told anyone who would listen, were all most pleasing to look at—was a slight to herself. Still, Lizzy could not banish the pain of mortification from her mind. It was like a bruise that hurt occasionally when her thoughts touched it.

"...His nobility in standing out for the fifth set was more than I expected," said Jane. "You cannot imagine my gratification when he came immediately to ask me for the sixth and thus showed his purpose so openly."

"Yes, I believe he was truly taken with you," agreed Lizzy.

"So amiable!" continued Jane. "He is just what a gentleman ought to be! And quite good looking too, if you will not think me shallow for saying so."

Lizzy could not agree. In her opinion, Mr Bingley possessed only the handsomeness of youth, with none of the outstanding features of Mr Darcy's vital physique—his strong jaw or beautiful eyes. Too bad he was such a wretch!

"No, I do not think you shallow," Lizzy reassured her sister. "Mr Bingley's manners were extremely pleasant, very gentlemanly."

So it continued. Lizzy did her best to partake of Jane's joy in her first love. When the sisters heard their father descending the stairs, they got up to dress themselves and soon followed him down.

Mr Bennet was sitting at the breakfast table, drinking his coffee and reading his paper when they entered the parlour. He soon was giving his daughters his customary distillation of the morning news, replete with his opinions on events, when Mrs Bennet entered—surprisingly early, considering her usual habits after evening functions. But it soon became apparent she had exerted herself to bask in Jane's triumph.

By the time her toast had arrived at the table, Mrs Bennet was angling for the horses to be harnessed to the carriage.

"They are needed on the farm," stated Mr Bennet firmly. "I am sure Mr Bingley can wait one day to see Jane again. No doubt he is still in his bed and in no state to receive visitors today."

Mrs Bennet wailed distressfully but her husband proved immovable.

Yet the squire was wrong about Mr Bingley, for shortly after two, the young gentleman arrived in his carriage with his sisters to pay his first morning call on the Bennets, returning a call Mr Bennet had made surreptitiously two days ago. The squire had said nothing of his expedition to his wife, not wishing his reluctant compliance with common civility to be attributed to her nagging.

It had been Bingley's original intention to ride to Longbourn accompanied by Darcy. But when Bingley strode into the study at one, Darcy begged off, being busily engaged in examining the estate's ledgers. Bingley knew his friend had a few eccentricities, which he quaintly accepted as 'habits of the Ton': Darcy kept pidgeons, like a Maharajah; slept in till midday; preferred his study dark, like a tomb; and had even taken to wearing coloured glasses in the afternoon when the sun struck the windows of the west wing of Netherfield directly. Bingley thought the spectacles quite fetching. He had even gone so far as to discover that Darcy's valet Mr Finn had purchased them at Mr Ayscough's, optician of Ludgate Street. Of course, Caroline had poured cold water that aspiration, telling her brother he could not wear them with the same distinction and would be merely look a zany.

Finding Darcy too busy to accompany him, Bingley had instead been forced to wait until his sisters rose to visit Longbourn. They had gone off together with Hurst in Bingley's carriage.

The Bingleys' visit to the Bennet estate lasted a mere half-hour, as was proper for a first morning visit, though Mrs Bennet would gladly have hosted them longer. On entering the parlour, the sisters had looked about at the furniture disdainfully. Clearly they had expected more of a squire's establishment. As she glided into the room, Caroline's glove even touched a small darn in the upholstery of the settee, caused by one of Lydia's high jinks, before she exchanged a glance with her sister. Mr Hurst withdrew his handkerchief to dust his chair, lest his lavender inexpressibles* be marked. But he was soon consoled by three slices of the delicious apple tart Hill laid on the table with tea. Mr Bingley seemed blissfully unaware of the rudeness of his relatives, immediately seating himself beside Jane and engaging her almost exclusively in conversation for his entire visit.

When Charlotte Lucas arrived, having walked from Meryton on one of her visits, which occurred on any passably fine day, the Bingley sisters got up immediately, saying they must cede their places to the newcomer. Mr Bingley was loath to part with Jane but Elizabeth could see that his relatives were just as eager to depart—and it was three to one. Thus was the visitors' departure speedily effected. Elizabeth could not be sorry.

As Miss Lucas was a very frequent visitor to Elizabeth, she was treated as family and speedily ignored by the rest of the Bennets, allowing Elizabeth to spirit Charlotte off after her friend had partaken of a thin slice of tart.

They soon arrived in the still room, a favourite haunt of Elizabeth's. She had added more coals under one of her concoctions before the arrival of the Bingleys and had been eager to check on it.

"Hubble bubble, toil and trouble!*" recited Elizabeth as she stirred the pot.

"What is it?" asked Charlotte as she viewed the turbid mixture dubiously.

"A new recipe for ginger beer!" laughed Lizzy. "Aunt Gardiner sent it. She says it's the best she has tasted—not too sweet."

"Why do you bother when you can just buy such things nowadays?" asked Charlotte.

"What would be the fun in that?" retorted Lizzy.

"It looks too much like hard work," huffed Miss Lucas, settling herself onto a three-legged stool in the corner. "Shall I read aloud while you brew? I finally managed to borrow The Orphan of the Rhine from the circulating library. Your aunt Philips took forever to read it!"

"Yes, please! I intend to bottle the spruce beer I made two weeks ago, but I need you to help me tie on the corks once I'm done."

Thus was a pleasant hour passed away until the ladies were called to a late lunch. Afterwards the corks were duly restrained.

The sun was getting low in the sky when Lady Lucas arrived in her carriage to transport Charlotte back to Lucas Lodge. Charlotte typically made the return journey on foot but had expected her mother, who had been out distributing formal invitations to her soirée on the following Tuesday, to greet the —shire militia to Meryton.

Lady Lucas had been very gratified to have caught the Bingleys at home on their return to Netherfield and had high hopes that they would grace her parlour along with Mr Darcy next week.

But if Lady Lucas had expected to catch a glimpse of Mr Darcy in a domestic setting at Netherfield, she had been disappointed. He was working in the study and never appeared, Caroline assured her, till after sunset.

Footnotes

inexpressibles - form-fitting knitted trousers worn by dandies similar to modern women's tights.

Mr Ayscough—coloured glasses were recommended for a variety of health reasons—blue, as a guard against the bright light of Argand lamps; green, for syphilis.

Hubble bubble—misquote of 'double, double toil and trouble', the curse laid on Macbeth, meaning 'four times strife and trouble' from Act 4, scene 1, Shakespeare.

Limbek—anglicized form of alembic, a distilling apparatus consisting of a gourd-shaped container and a cap with a long beak for conveying the products to a receiver.