Jane was the only one they seemed to like, and she only smiled as she made excuses for the sisters.
“It may be that they do not understand the ways of country society and do not realise they are expected to return the hospitality they have received.”
“Mayhap,” Elizabeth replied, unable to resist the opportunity for a little mischief. “Although I should have thought courtesy much the same in London as in Hertfordshire. Jane, you know perfectly well they cannot be ignorant of what is expected; they merely choose to slight everyone here.”
Most believed Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst considered themselves superior to their new acquaintances, and Elizabeth could not entirely disagree.
Despite the Bingley sisters’ airs, the Netherfield guests remained much in demand. Those fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to secure their attendance at gatherings soon found the honour came at a price. At one evening’s card party the Netherfield party had deigned to attend, Elizabeth overheard Mrs Long whisper, “Do you see the way Miss Bingley looks about her whenever she enters a room? As if she expects gilt on the chairs or rooms decorated in the same manner as St. James’.”
Elizabeth could hardly dispute the observation. She found it remarkable that women so eager to display refinement should so frequently betray the want of it.
Of Mr Darcy, Elizabeth saw little but heard much. By birth and fortune he was beyond comparison with any in or near Meryton, and while many took exception to what they perceived as pride, she began to suspect that reserve had been mistaken for disdain. Sir William Lucas, after speaking to him one evening at dinner, had confided, “He is a most distinguished gentleman—silent, yes, but with an air of thoughtfulness about him. Depend upon it, he is more a man of sense than show.” Even Mrs Long, who was seldom charitable, admitted that “he bowed very handsomely, even if he hardly spoke a word to anyone not of his party.”
If Mr Darcy looked down upon the neighbourhood, he did so with far more discretion than his companions; he was unfailingly civil, if not sociable, and gave no open cause for complaint. Those who observed him closely spoke of seriousness rather than arrogance—a distinction Elizabeth had not been inclined to make before.
It was also noted, to general surprise, that he alone of the Netherfield party attended services each Sunday without fail. “So regular with his attendance!” the rector’s wife exclaimed. “My husband claims he never once consults his watch during the services, even when it did go a bit long the other week.” Mrs Philips, who sat two pews behind, declared she had seen him join in every hymn with a pleasant singing voice. Even Mary Bennet, who had the advantage of being able to see into the Netherfield pew, reported that he brought a prayer book of his own and turned the pages with the confidence of long habit.
Elizabeth found these accounts unexpectedly pleasing—more consistent with the man she had met in conversation than with the haughty figure she had judged at the assembly. A gentleman proud in bearing yet steadfast in duty was, she thought, a contradiction worth understanding. Although she could not explain why he interested her so much, she was determined to see what she could discover about him.
More than a month after the Netherfield party had taken up residence, the Bennet family, assembled at breakfast one morning, was surprised by the arrival of a letter from Netherfield for Jane.
“It is from Miss Bingley,” Jane said after taking a moment to look at it.
My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives; for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.
Yours ever, Caroline Bingley.
When Mrs Bennet lamented that the gentlemen would be absent from Netherfield, thereby depriving Jane of an opportunity to encounter Mr Bingley, she soon contrived a remedy. The sky was already heavy with clouds, a circumstance which appeared only to strengthen her resolution.
A ride on horseback, she declared, would do Jane good—and if the threatened rain should fall, it would be most convenient for her eldest to remain the night at Netherfield. Elizabeth could not help smiling at her mother’s satisfaction in the contrivance, for the scheme was so very transparent that even Jane looked half-ashamed to submit to it.
It came as no surprise to Elizabeth when the promised rain began to fall within half an hour of Jane’s departure, nor was she astonished when Jane did not return home that evening. Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction was so evident that Elizabeth could scarcely resent her success; the plan had worked precisely as intended.
The next morning brought fresh intelligence. A letter arrived at Longbourn just as the family sat down to breakfast, interrupting the meal for the second day in succession. It was addressed to Elizabeth in Jane’s hand and explained that she had been caught in the rain and had taken a cold. Mr Jones, the apothecary, had been called. Jane had not expressly asked Elizabeth to come, but the gentle appeal lay clearly between the lines.
“I intend to go to Netherfield to see how Jane does,” Elizabeth announced after reading the note aloud to the family.
“Whatever for?” cried Mrs Bennet. “Jane will be quite well soon, and since she will be there for several more days, she will have every opportunity to spend time with Mr Bingley.”
Elizabeth struggled to maintain her composure. “Mr Bingley can hardly see her if she is confined to her bed.”
“But she will be forced to remain there,” Mrs Bennet insisted, quite pleased with her own reasoning. “It is the very thing I hoped for! A few days’ confinement and she will be as good as engaged.”
“Still, I mean to go,” Elizabeth replied, her tone firmer now. “I shall not be easy until I see her myself.”
Mr Bennet looked up from his paper with a faint smile. “Would you like the carriage, Lizzy?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “The day is clear and bright enough, and I will ride Oberon. It is too muddy for walking after yesterday’s rain, and my poor gelding has been too long idle.”
“As you wish,” he said, returning to his reading.
Mrs Bennet gave an indignant huff but said no more. Elizabeth knew she was displeased—not so much by her decision as by the fear that her interference might thwart her schemes.
Arriving at Netherfield more than an hour later, Elizabeth was shown into the dining room, where the household had just sat down to breakfast. The warmth of the fire was most welcome after her brisk ride, yet she scarcely had time to enjoy it before all eyes turned towards her.
It was immediately clear that Miss Bingley was not pleased by her arrival—her surprise stiffened into an expression that could scarcely be called a smile, a mere tightening of the lips offeredin place of civility. Elizabeth might have laughed at the pretence, had not both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy risen at once to greet her, which caused even that pretence of civility to be dropped.
