Nearly as soon as he stood, Mr Bingley exclaimed, “Miss Elizabeth! What a pleasure—pray, come in. Have you come to check on Miss Bennet’s health?”
“I have,” Elizabeth replied before greeting the rest of those gathered. “I wished to see for myself how she was this morning and to see if there was anything I might do for her.”
Miss Bingley’s voice followed at once, smooth with civility yet edged with something far less kind. “I am astonished that you should venture out on horseback this morning, Miss Eliza. The roads must be dreadful after all that rain. But then,” she added with a slight, elegant shrug, “I suppose the Bennets are quite accustomed to riding about in such conditions.”
Elizabeth very nearly laughed; the barb was so transparent it scarcely merited the effort of defence. Instead, she inclined her head politely to the temporary mistress of the house.
“Would someone be so kind as to take me to Jane?” she asked, choosing civility over the satisfaction of a retort.
“Of course,” Mr Bingley said, turning to speak to the housekeeper, who had remained after announcing Elizabeth to the room.
With a nod of acknowledgement and a few words of thanks, Elizabeth followed Mrs Nicholls into the hall.
“How is Jane?” she asked as soon as they were alone and unable to be overheard.
“Miss Bennet was very chilled when she arrived yesterday and has since taken a rather violent cold,” Mrs Nicholls said, speaking with the easy familiarity of one long accustomed to her listener. “I have kept a maid with her at all times, but I have been obliged to exercise a little ingenuity in seeing it done.”
Elizabeth thanked her and inquired further after Jane’s comfort, relieved at least to learn that she had not been left unattended.
“Miss Bingley was exceedingly distressed by Miss Bennet’s illness—less, I suspect, on her account than because it obliged her to extend her hospitality overnight. She will be even less pleased now that you have arrived to care for Miss Bennet.”
That nearly caused Elizabeth to chuckle, but the housekeeper continued.
“The house is, after all, only leased, and I ought not to speak so freely, but she has made little effort to disguise her dissatisfaction with both the situation of the house and the society it affords—nor her opinion of your family in particular.”
Mrs Nicholls glanced about the corridor and, after ensuring no one was near, lowered her voice further.
“She has also been heard to remark that Mr Darcy pays you far too much attention for her comfort and that she finds it exceedingly provoking. Her manner towards him shifts between marked coolness and excessive civility, and she is plainly discomposed that he appears indifferent to her. I cannot say what may have passed between them, and I know I ought to hold my tongue, but seeing that it is you…”
Elizabeth laid her hand upon the housekeeper’s arm with quiet familiarity, pausing her speech. “Tell me, is she treating the staff ill?”
“Not precisely,” Mrs Nicholls replied after a moment, clearly choosing her words with care. “Though more than one item has been broken in moments of displeasure. Nothing of consequence, you understand, but quite enough to make the maids uneasy when she is crossed. She can be sharp when the mood takes her, and she does not trouble herself to learn the names of the lower servants. Both she and her sister are exacting, yet they expect everything to proceed without the smallest inconvenience to themselves. Thus, we have little cause for complaint—at least none that might be spoken aloud.”
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “In other words, you endure them with the same patience you afford every guest who thinks a little too well of themselves. Are you keeping a record of what she has broken and sending it to the solicitor in charge of leasing the estate?”
Mrs Nicholls’s eyes twinkled. “Precisely, Miss Lizzy. It is not the first time we have entertained fine company who believed the servants both deaf and blind, and I doubt it will be the last. I shall be very glad when Lord Granfield returns and takes up residence here more permanently.”
“As shall I,” Elizabeth said, just as they reached Jane’s chamber.
CHAPTER FIVE
Two days after Elizabeth’s arrival at Netherfield, having been invited to stay by her host to care for Jane, Elizabeth was summoned without warning by the housekeeper who informed her that a visitor awaited her in the drawing room. For a moment, surprise gave way to concern—no callers had been expected and certainly not for her—but that feeling vanished the instant she crossed the threshold and saw who it was.
“Grandpapa!” she exclaimed, her voice bright with astonishment and joy as she hurried across the room and into the arms of the tall, distinguished gentleman awaiting her.
It had been more than a year since she had last seen him. Lord Edmund Talbot, the Earl of Granfield, was a man much sought after for his tact and discernment, long trusted by the Crown and often dispatched on delicate diplomatic missions abroad. His most recent charge had taken him first to the Americas the previous winter, and even though they had exchanged letters during his absence, the distance and the slow passage of monthsat sea had made each missive a rare and treasured gift, and were often delayed by several weeks at a time.
“Hello, my dear Elizabeth,” he said, his tone warm with affection as he returned her embrace before drawing back to study her face. “You are looking quite well—but then, you always do. Tell me, what brings you to Netherfield? I was astonished when your uncle told me I could find you here.”
Elizabeth’s laughter was soft and fond, her eyes alight with pleasure. It had been too long since she had heard that familiar voice, and in that moment, the stately drawing room and all its grandeur faded into insignificance beside the comfort of his presence.
To the casual observer, she had appeared simply the second daughter of the Bennet household. Indeed, she had lived at Longbourn almost permanently since the age of six, with only occasional visits . Her father, Mr Bennet’s younger brother, had married the daughter of the Earl of Granfield only a few years after Thomas Bennet married Frances Gardiner.
From her mother, Elizabeth had inherited her dark eyes and quick understanding; from her father, a warmth of manner and inclination to laughter. Both her parents had been taken from her before she could form more than fleeting memories of them.
At the time of her parents’ deaths, her grandfather had been abroad, and with no other guardian readily available, Elizabeth had been taken into the care of her uncle’s family at Longbourn. What had been intended as a temporary arrangement soon ceased to feel so; affection took root with such ease that, in time, she no longer considered herself a guest. Her cousins became as close as sisters, Mrs Bennet—though seldom patient—was kindin her own way, and Mr Bennet’s dry humour never failed to draw a smile from her.
By the time Lord Granfield returned to England and learnt of the tragedy, Elizabeth was already deeply enmeshed in the Longbourn household and had no wish to leave it. Lord Granfield consented to the arrangement for a time, particularly as his duties soon required him to leave England once more.
