Chapter 8 - The Dinner Hour

The rain had started again shortly after Lizzy left for Netherfield that morning. Mr Bennet, settled in his study with a book, had merely shaken his head at his second daughter's determination to visit her sister. The weather had worsened steadily throughout the day, and by two in the afternoon, the heavy clouds had brought an unnatural darkness to Longbourn.

He had assumed the Bingleys would offer her their carriage for the return journey - they could hardly expect a young lady to walk in such weather. When no carriage appeared by three, he concluded she must have accepted their invitation to stay another night with Jane. A sensible decision, given how quickly the storm had turned the afternoon to twilight. He expected his wife would burst in to his study any moment with the news and inform him that she was sending Lizzy's things.

Yet he found himself repeatedly drawn to the study window, watching the rain lash against the glass. A branch scraped against the pane, driven by another violent gust. The clock in the hall struck four, its chimes nearly lost in the howling wind.

Something about this early darkness made him uneasy. Perhaps he should send to inquire… though in this deluge, that would mean sending someone else out into the storm. No, better to trust that Lizzy was safe at Netherfield. Though knowing his second daughter's independent spirit…

He returned to his chair, determined to focus on his book. The same paragraph had been before his eyes for the past quarter hour, the words refusing to hold his attention. Another gust rattled the windows.

"Mr Bennet!" His wife's voice preceded her into the study. "How can you sit there reading when Lizzy hasn't sent word? Not even a note to say she's staying! Though of course she must be staying - she can hardly walk home in this weather. But really, Mr Bennet, such thoughtlessness! To leave her mother in such suspense!"

He glanced at the clock again. Nearly five now, and the darkness outside was complete. The storm showed no signs of abating.

"My dear," he replied, not looking up from his book, "I'm sure Elizabeth has more sense than to attempt the journey in this weather."

"But she might have sent word! Surely Mr Bingley would spare a servant to bring a message. Such thoughtlessness! Unless…" Mrs Bennet paused dramatically. "Unless she did try to walk home! Oh, Mr Bennet, what if she's lost on the road somewhere? Or fallen in a ditch? My poor nerves cannot bear it!"

Mr Bennet's fingers tightened imperceptibly on his book. He had been trying not to consider such possibilities himself. "Mrs Bennet, you yourself just said she must be staying at Netherfield. They would hardly allow her to leave in such conditions."

"But she's so headstrong! You know how she delights in tramping about the countryside, regardless of the weather or her poor mother's feelings!" Mrs Bennet collapsed into a chair, pressing her handkerchief to her forehead. "And now it's growing so dark…"

For once, Mr Bennet found himself unable to dismiss his wife's concerns entirely. The early darkness pressed against the windows, and the storm's fury seemed to be increasing rather than abating.

The clock struck five. "Mrs Hill will have dinner ready," he said, closing his book. "No sense in letting it spoil while we fret. We all need to eat, regardless of Lizzy's whereabouts."

"Eat! How can you think of eating at a time like this?"

"Cook has worked hard to prepare us a lovely meal, my dear. Come." Though his tone remained dry, Mr Bennet cast one last glance at the rain-lashed windows before following his wife from the study.

The dining room was well-lit against the early darkness, though Mrs Bennet had barely touched her soup. "But suppose she did try to walk home? In all this rain and wind! Oh, my poor Lizzy… And Jane still so ill! What if she takes a turn for the worse? What if Lizzy catches it too? They'll both die, and Mr Bingley will quit the neighbourhood in horror, and it will be all my fault for letting them go to Netherfield in the first place!"

"La!" said Lydia, helping herself to more bread. "I'm sure Lizzy is perfectly comfortable at Netherfield. What luck that Jane fell ill - now they'll both get to stay even longer!"

"And with all the officers confined to quarters by this weather," Kitty added, "there's nothing amusing happening in Meryton anyway."

"Patience and fortitude are virtues to be cultivated in times of uncertainty," Mary intoned, setting down her spoon. "As Hannah More observes—"

The sound of horses in the drive interrupted her moral observation, followed by the bustle of servants greeting riders at the kitchen entrance.

"Riders at this hour? In this weather?" Mrs Bennet clutched at her throat. "Oh! I knew it! Something dreadful has happened!"

"It might be news of the officers," Kitty suggested hopefully.

"Or a message from Lizzy," Lydia added, standing to peer out the window into the darkness. "Perhaps she's been invited to stay the week!"

"Sit down, both of you," Mr Bennet said sharply, his own attention fixed on the sounds from below. They could hear boots in the kitchen, voices, the scrape of chairs.

"Mr Bennet, go down at once and find out what's happened!" Mrs Bennet demanded. "How can you sit there when—"

Hill appeared in the doorway, her face grave in the candlelight.

"If you please, sir," Hill said, her usual composure slightly strained. "Two riders from Netherfield."

Mrs Bennet's fork clattered against her plate. "Oh! I knew it! Something dreadful has happened to my poor girls!"

"Show them in immediately," Mr Bennet said, already moving toward the door.

"They're being seen to in the kitchen first, sir. The poor lads are half-frozen. But they brought this—" Hill held out a letter, the paper still damp from the journey.

Mr Bennet moved closer to the candlelight to read, aware of his family's eyes upon him.

"Well?" Mrs Bennet demanded, unable to bear the suspense. "What has happened? Are they both dead? Has Mr Bingley cast them out? Oh, my poor nerves!"

ooOoo

Darcy maintained his position by the study window, watching the rain while trying not to count the minutes since Mr Jones had gone upstairs. Fletcher gave a small cough. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you Fletcher." Darcy didn't turn from the window, though he was acutely aware of his unfinished dress. The valet quietly withdrew just as the door opened again to admit Bingley, now properly attired though his hair was still damp from his bath.

"The chase is secured as best we can manage in this weather," Bingley said, moving to warm his hands by the fire. "Though it's damaged beyond repair, I fear. We'll need to wait for the storm to pass before we can clear the road properly."

Darcy gave a slight nod, his attention drawn back to the window where water still streamed down the glass. His cravat remained somewhat askew, but he couldn't bring himself to care about such details now.

"I passed Jones on my way down," Bingley continued, watching him carefully. "He was just heading up to examine Miss Elizabeth."

"And Thomas?" Darcy kept his voice perfectly level.

"Being tended to in the servants' hall. Mrs Winters has him well looked after." Bingley hesitated, then added, "Darcy, about the current arrangements…"

"If you object to Miss Elizabeth's use of my chambers—"

"No, no," Bingley interrupted hastily. "Though Caroline has made her opinions on the matter quite clear. But surely Miss Elizabeth's health must take precedence over…" He trailed off, unsure how to delicately reference the social impropriety of the situation.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Morris appeared, his usual dignified manner somewhat strained. "Mr Jones has finished his examination, sir. He asked to speak with you both."

Darcy turned from the window, careful to keep his movements measured despite the sudden leap of his pulse.

"Show him in, Morris." Bingley said calmly.

Darcy clasped his hands behind his back, a habit formed in his youth for maintaining composure. The same rigid self-control he'd needed after his father's death, or during Georgiana's ordeal last summer. He would not allow his concern for Elizabeth to show so openly, no matter how his heart raced as Morris went to fetch the doctor.

Morris returned moments later with Mr Jones, whose weathered face bore signs of fatigue. The doctor set his bag down with a weary sigh, and Darcy forced himself to remain still, to not demand immediate answers.

"Well, gentlemen," Jones began, accepting the chair Bingley offered, "I've done what I can for both patients. Thomas's injuries are serious but not life-threatening - provided infection doesn't set in." He paused, and Darcy felt his muscles tense. "As for Miss Elizabeth…"

Darcy kept his voice carefully neutral. "The fever?"

"Yes, most concerning. Being trapped motionless in that wet, confined space… quite different from riding through the rain, you understand. The cold had time to settle deep." Jones pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. "The sprain is painful but will heal with rest. This fever, however…"

"But she will recover?" The words escaped before Darcy could check them, though he maintained his rigid posture.

"With proper care, yes. Though I must insist she not be moved until the fever breaks." Jones glanced at Bingley. "I understand there has been some… discussion about more suitable accommodations?"

"My sister has expressed concern about the current arrangements," Bingley admitted, glancing at Darcy.

"The young lady needs warmth and rest," Jones said firmly, "not to be carried through cold corridors. I wouldn't recommend attempting to transport her home until she's considerably stronger."

Darcy's thoughts returned unbidden to their journey through the rain, to Elizabeth's trembling form as she'd gripped the pommel with white-knuckled hands. He had attributed her shaking entirely to cold and fever, but now… He pushed the memory aside, maintaining his rigid posture as Jones continued.

"Which reminds me - I'll need to prepare more fever powders. And someone should be sent to inform her family of the situation."

"Riders have already been dispatched to Longbourn," Bingley assured him.

"Good. Though in this weather…" Jones glanced toward the window where the storm still raged. "Well, I'll return before midnight to check on both patients. Until then, Miss Elizabeth needs complete rest. No visitors except those necessary for her care." His gaze settled briefly on Darcy. "Even well-meaning inquiries might disturb her recovery at this stage."

Darcy inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of the doctor's pointed words, though his fingers pressed harder against each other behind his back. The restriction was sensible, necessary even, yet the thought of being unable to ascertain Elizabeth's condition for himself…

"I'll have Morris show you out," Bingley said, rising.

"Of course." Jones collected his bag, pausing at the door. "I'll return before midnight with more fever powders. Should Miss Elizabeth's condition worsen before then…"

"We'll send for you immediately," Bingley assured him.

As their voices faded down the hallway, Darcy moved to the window. The rain continued its relentless assault against the glass, obscuring his view of the grounds in the November darkness. Somewhere out there, two riders were battling this storm to reach Longbourn. Mr Bennet would need to be informed, arrangements made. And he himself… what? To be reduced to waiting helplessly while Elizabeth fought this fever in his chambers, chambers he could not even approach?

There must be something useful he could do. The chase would need to be recovered, properly this time. Thomas's family would require assistance. His mind seized on these practical matters, desperate for any action that might prove more productive than this enforced idleness.

The sound of Bingley's return drew him from his thoughts, though he didn't turn from his contemplation of the storm.

ooOoo

"Really, Louisa," Caroline said, pacing Louisa's chamber while Louisa's maid, Davis, adjusted her dinner dress, "the entire household has been thrown into complete disorder. And Mr Darcy's chambers! Of all the inappropriate…"

"What else could be done?" Louisa replied as she sat down in front of the mirror. "The girl was half-dead when they brought her in. Though I must say," she added, examining her reflection, "it was most unlike Mr Darcy to act so… impulsively."

Davis started arranging Louisa's hair.

"Precisely!" Caroline stopped her pacing to stare out at the rain-lashed windows. "Mr Darcy, who is always so proper, so conscious of his position… To carry her through the house himself, to install her in his private chambers without a thought for appearances! And now Mr Jones insists she cannot be moved."

"Perhaps once the fever breaks—"

"The fever!" Caroline turned sharply. "Which she likely caught from traipsing about in the mud to visit Jane. Really, what kind of family allows their daughters to go about the countryside alone? And now we must all suffer the consequences of their lack of propriety. Dinner already an hour late, and who knows if Mr Darcy will even come down…"

"There, ma'am," Davis said, stepping back from her completed work. "Will that do?"

Louisa examined her reflection with satisfaction. "Yes, thank you, Davis. That will be all."

"We should look in on Charles before dinner," Caroline said as Davis quietly withdrew. "No doubt he and Mr Darcy are still in the study, brooding over this unfortunate situation. And someone must ensure Mr Hurst hasn't fallen asleep in the drawing room again."

"He was complaining about the delayed dinner," Louisa replied, rising from her seat. "Though really, with all this chaos, what else could be expected?"

The sisters made their way downstairs, Caroline already composing what she would say to draw Mr Darcy from his evident preoccupation with Elizabeth Bennet's condition.

Morris met them at the bottom of the stairs. "Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are in the study, miss. Shall I announce dinner?"

"Not yet, Morris," Caroline replied. "We should speak with my brother first." She turned to her sister. "Louisa, perhaps you might see to Mr Hurst while I—"

"Of course." Louisa moved toward the drawing room, no doubt expecting to find her husband dozing by the fire.

Caroline approached the study door, pausing to adjust her dress before knocking. The murmur of male voices ceased at her light tap.

"Come," called her brother's voice.

She entered to find Charles standing by the fire while Mr Darcy remained at his position by the window, his rigid posture betraying tension despite his carefully composed features.

"I trust Mr Jones's report was satisfactory?" she inquired, moving into the room with practiced grace.

"Miss Elizabeth's fever remains high," Charles replied, "but Mr Jones will return before midnight with more powders." He glanced at Darcy's back. "I was just suggesting to Darcy that we might have dinner served—"

"Yes, of course," Caroline interjected smoothly. "Mr Hurst has been most patient with the delay, but really, we must maintain some semblance of normal routine, despite these… unusual circumstances." She moved further into the room, positioning herself where Darcy would have to acknowledge her presence. "I assume Miss Bennet will remain with her sister?"

"Miss Bennet should rest," Charles said quickly. "I've already instructed Morris to have a tray sent up to her."

"How thoughtful of you, Charles." Caroline's tone held just a hint of reproach. "Though really, with two invalids now installed upstairs—"

"Miss Elizabeth is hardly an invalid by choice, Miss Bingley," Darcy said quietly, still facing the window. "Nor is her present situation of her own making."

Caroline surveyed their day clothes with a critical eye. "Surely you gentlemen intend to change for dinner? The day has been trying enough without abandoning all proper form. Even Mr Hurst has dressed appropriately despite the delay."

"Of course, Caroline," Charles said with a sigh. "Though given the circumstances—"

"Precisely because of the circumstances, we must maintain standards," Caroline insisted. "Mr Darcy, you agree, surely?"

Mr Darcy finally turned from the window, his expression carefully neutral. "You will excuse me from dinner this evening, Miss Bingley. I have some urgent correspondence that requires attention."

"But surely that can wait—"

"I'll have something sent to the study," Charles interrupted, recognising his friend's need for solitude. "Fletcher can bring you a change of clothes there, if you wish."

"Thank you Bingley, but its not necessary, I'll take a tray in my room." Mr Darcy replied.

Caroline's lips tightened at this disruption to her plans. "Charles, you at least will join us properly attired? Mr Hurst has been waiting quite patiently."

"Yes, yes," Bingley agreed, already moving toward the door. "Give me ten minutes. Darcy, I'll have Morris see to that tray."

ooOoo

Dinner was a subdued affair. Mr. Hurst's complaints about the delayed service were silenced by the first course, though he cast frequent glances at the empty chairs. Caroline maintained a stream of inconsequential conversation, determinedly avoiding any mention of the day's events, while Louisa responded with appropriate murmurs of agreement.

"The soup is particularly good tonight," Caroline observed, as though they were having a perfectly normal evening. "Though I fear it may have cooled somewhat with the delay."

"Quite cold," Mr. Hurst muttered into his bowl.

Bingley, who had changed but seemed distracted, kept glancing toward the door as though expecting news. Even Caroline's pointed remarks about the proper organization of a household failed to draw more than absent responses from her brother.

The empty place settings seemed to mock Caroline's attempts at normalcy. Mr. Darcy's absence, in particular, cast a shadow over her carefully maintained façade of proper dining room decorum.

ooOoo

"Well, that's the family served, at least," Mrs Winters said, wiping her hands on her apron as she surveyed the kitchen. The servants' dinner was laid out on the long table, though several places would remain empty while trays were carried up. "Though everything's topsy-turvy with service tonight. One to Miss Bennet upstairs, Mr Darcy in the blue room—"

"The blue room?" Jenny interrupted, pausing before taking her place at the table. "I thought Mr Darcy was in—"

"Mind your place and not the arrangements upstairs," Mrs Winters cut in sharply. "Though I must say," she added in a lower tone to Martha, who was preparing to take up Mr Darcy's tray before joining them for dinner, "I've never known such a disruption to proper order. Miss Bingley's face when Morris told her about the dining arrangements…"

"It's not just the dining arrangements causing that face," Martha replied quietly, making sure the younger maids were out of earshot. "You should have seen her when Mr Darcy carried Miss Elizabeth straight past her to his chambers. I thought she'd swallow her tongue."

"Less gossip and more attention to your work," Mrs Nicholls said briskly, appearing in the doorway. "Martha, that tray needs to go up, and Jenny, once you've eaten, the bread needs starting for tomorrow. And we'll need more hot water taken up through the night. Miss Elizabeth's fever hasn't broken yet."

"And how is Thomas?" Mrs Winters asked as Martha gathered up Mr Darcy's tray. "Has anyone checked on him this past hour?"

"Sleeping now," Mrs Nicholls replied. "His sister's with him. Though we'll need to arrange for someone to take him home tomorrow, once Mr Jones says he can be moved." She cast an eye over the kitchen. "Betty, you'll need to take Miss Bennet's tray up after Martha's done with Mr Darcy's. Sarah's with her now, but she'll need relieving for her own dinner."

"Poor Miss Elizabeth," Betty said, unable to contain herself despite the housekeeper's earlier warning about gossip. "Trapped in that chase for so long in the rain. If Mr Darcy hadn't—"

"That's enough of that," Mrs Nicholls cut in. "The bread won't knead itself, and those fires upstairs need tending through the night. We'll need to arrange the night watches for Miss Elizabeth - Mrs Winters, if you could see to the rota? We'll need someone with experience."

The kitchen settled into its familiar evening rhythm, though conversations remained hushed and focused on the tasks at hand. Even Mr Hurst's usual demands for wine with his dinner seemed subdued tonight.

Morris appeared in the doorway. "The riders have just returned from Longbourn, Mrs Nicholls. They're seeing to the horses now, but they'll need hot food when they're done."

"Of course," Mrs Winters nodded. "We'll keep something warm for them. Poor lads must be frozen through."

"And Thomas's sister is asking about arrangements for tomorrow," Morris added. "She's worried about getting him home in this weather."

"The cart that brings the washing could take him," Mrs Winters suggested. "If we pad it well enough with straw. Though it'll depend on what Mr Jones says when he returns."

"Speaking of returns," Mrs Nicholls said, "James will need to go out again later to fetch Mr Jones back. We'd best make sure he gets a proper hot meal now." She turned to survey the kitchen. "Betty, once you've taken that tray up, see to more wood for the fires. We can't have them going low tonight, not with two sick rooms to tend."

The younger maids exchanged glances at this reminder of the unusual situation upstairs, but a sharp look from Mrs Nicholls kept them focused on their tasks.

Note - sorry for the delay in posting, I have been fighting with Amazon about publishing Mr Collins' Bride, they took it down for copyright issues due to the quote at the start from Pride and Prejudice, which meant I was not in the mood for writing. Any why they finally caved and its back up, so if you didn't get a chance to read it or finish it, its there and the paperback version will be up soon.