Elizabeth was surprised, when she exited by way of the kitchen, to find Mr. Darcy already seated on the cart. James handed her up onto the platform and waited until she was comfortably seated on the bench.
“I thought to inspect the damage from the storm myself, Mrs. Elizabeth, and saw an opportunity for us to talk privately,” said Darcy, picking up the reins. “I’ve had an Old English Black put to the shaft, as the lanes are likely muddy, and the draught will require a heavy horse to pull us free if we sink into the mire.”
The cart lurched forward at an easy pace as Darcy turned it through the stable yard and onto the main lane, which spanned the estate from east to west, much like the Great North Road spanned England from London to Scotland. They sat silentlyfor a while, the peace welcome after the rigours of the previous day, glad to be away from the house and the need to entertain Pemberley’s guests. How natural it was for Elizabeth to think of them asherguests, when she now set out as caretaker—likely for the last time.
“Mrs. Elizabeth, there is much to discuss. As we said before—the accounts, issues pertaining to the estate, renewal of the leases. But, if I may, I observed at dinner last night, and afterwards, that you were rather cool to Mr. Bingley. I have found him a pleasant, agreeable man—perhaps too easy-going, but cheerful and sociable. It is presumptuous of me to enquire, but towards the others you were everything gracious and forthcoming.”
She determined that honesty with Mr. Darcy was for the best, that she would not dissemble. “Yes, I do hold fault against Mr. Bingley. For while he appears everything kind and open, he is either of fickle temperament or cruelly deceitful.”
“How so! He is the last man I would have accused as such,” exclaimed Darcy, astonished by her reply. “May I ask how you have come to such an opinion?”
“Of course, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “I had heard of Mr. Bingley from Hertfordshire, where he had taken a house, Netherfield Park, which is adjacent to my father’s estate, Longbourn.”
“Indeed, I visited Netherfield, and attended an assembly at Meryton, but was called away to London—my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had just returned from the Peninsula, gravely wounded.”
“The colonel is a fine man,” said Elizabeth. “I had the pleasure of meeting him at Lady Matlock’s—‘twas where I first met Georgiana.”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, though her face was obscured by her white linen cap. Her beautiful chestnut hair had escaped,falling in graceful waves about her neck. Mrs. Elizabeth—an acquaintance of his aunt, Lady Matlock? Yet he should not have been surprised, since she was also a confidante of Lady Jersey, also a countess.
Elizabeth continued, “One evening, Miss Bingley congratulated herself on having saved her brother from a most imprudent marriage. Her benevolence—as she calls it—occurred during the past winter, some eight months ago. You may not be aware, but Miss Bingley frequently makes such allusions, believing them to demonstrate her deep understanding of refined society.”
“And what reasons did she give for this interference?”
“She spoke of some very strong objections against the lady,” said Elizabeth.
“I do not understand—how does this reflect on Bingley’s character?”
“Can you countenance a man, Mr. Darcy, who singles out a young lady—a lady of all loveliness and goodness, and pays her every attention? She, the excellent daughter of a gentleman. Why, at the very assembly you attended, he danced with the lady twice; at every gathering—dinners, soirées, other entertainments—he sought out her company to the exclusion of all others. Then, some six weeks later, he holds a ball in the lady’s honour: opens the ball with her, dances the supper set, and then the last. Can there be a more obvious declaration? Perhaps a rake in London may do so—but he would be a known rake, and his partner, foolish. But in the country? No! He had made his declaration fully aware that the neighbourhood knew his intent. Yet, the very next day, after stating he would return within but three days and having accepted an invitation to dinner, he departs. His sisters close the house, without any word of farewell to the families—those very same families who had welcomed Bingley to their dinner tables and into their parlours.”
“I believe,” said Darcy cautiously, “that you know the lady?”
“Indeed! Miss Bingley was rather careless in her story, for she had not thought of the likeness between the name of the lady Mr. Bingley so cruelly disdained and my own. The lady was Miss Bennet, Miss Jane Bennet—my beloved sister, who has never had an ill thought for anyone. Yet, there is more to this tale. For my sister, on invitation from my uncle and aunt Gardiner, travelled to London, where she determined to call on the Bingley sisters. Her reception was barely civil, claiming they were about to leave the house, though it was clear they had no such intention. They returned the call after an overly long three weeks, and all further correspondence was ignored—even though, in Meryton, they had called Janetheir dear friend.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed deeply, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on the reins. “This does cast a different light upon his character than I had supposed,” he said slowly. “I confess, I cannot think Bingley of being cruel.”
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together, her gaze fixed on the muddy track ahead. “Perhaps he did not intend cruelty. But to Jane, it was bewildering. To receive such marked attentions, to be so openly preferred, and then to be abandoned—without explanation or farewell—well, it is not a slight easily forgotten. My sister is not one to complain, and she has borne it with more grace than I could muster. But it has changed her, Mr. Darcy. It has made her cautious, where before she was only trusting. She writes to me, yet I perceive the distress behind her words.”
Elizabeth glanced sidelong at him, her features softening. “It is not too late to make things right, if that is possible. Jane does not harbour resentment, though she has been hurt. I only wish Mr. Bingley had considered her feelings more than his own convenience or the ambitions of his sisters.”
“And Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst? You do not appear to hold them with equal disdain?”
“Oh, I met many such ladies in London. They all wish to climb higher, to ascend the rungs of thehaut ton, but are tainted by beingnouveau riche. In truth, I pity them. Society is exceedingly harsh, and while Mr. Bingley’s five thousand a year is a respectable sum, it will not buy him entry to Almack’s—indeed, it has purchased him onlyrespectability,but not the rank ofgentleman, unless he marries a gentlewoman of some consequence. But entry to the first circles? To mingle with lords and ladies alike? Such elevation comes only through marriage. The brewer Samuel Whitbread, for example, married the sister of an earl and is admitted to the highest circles—though his fortune also helps, and his being a prominent client of Child & Co.” She chuckled. “Such as you are, Mr. Darcy.”
Once more, they continued on in silence. When Darcy spoke, his voice was quiet but resolute. “Thank you for your candour, Mrs. Elizabeth. I will reflect on what you have told me—and I will speak to Bingley. He ought to know the full measure of his actions.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said Elizabeth, “but they are unlikely to meet again, and I do not know Jane’s heart. If he left her so easily, I am not sure he has the constancy that is due Jane from any man who courts her.”
* * *
Soon after, the little hamlet of Beeley came into view—a row of small cottages spread out along the banks of the Beeley rivulet, each with a small garth to feed the family, set on land leased from Pemberley. Both Elizabeth and Darcy stared in dismay. The gardens of those cottages nearest the stream were strewn with debris, plantings washed away, the picket fences and, in many cases, the hedges torn away.
As they came close to the village, they could see groups of men cutting away trees that were still clogging the creek. They paused their work as Elizabeth and Darcy came up the lane.
“Mrs. Elizabeth, you are a welcome sight,” cried a young mother, holding a small child on her hip. Darcy pulled the cart to a halt opposite her small stone cottage, a line of mud along the walls showing the height of the flood, which was now receding, although water still covered much of the vegetable garden behind the house.
“Mr. Darcy, could you unhitch the horse—I believe the men could do with a little more pulling power? If the stream were unblocked, the waters would drain away.” Elizabeth stepped down from the bench, not concerned by the mud-covered lane. Her half-Hessians, unlikely to survive the soaking, could be replaced.
Darcy followed her down, calling to a boy to assist in lowering the shaft-stands to prevent the cart from tilting as he removed the horse from the shafts. “Where’s the best place to begin?” he called, walking the horse towards the stream.
