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Sunday found Jane not entirely recovered, but well enough to attend church. She suspected most in the neighbourhood disregarded anything Mrs Bennet said, but she still wanted it known she was not dead or even particularly ill.

Jane, Elizabeth, and a still surprised Mary, discussed the likely effect of their defection from Netherfield on their reputations, and less importantly (far less), that of the Netherfield residents.

Mary still struggled to escape from simply reflecting what the sermon writers said on the matter; but once that was out of the way, she had a better-than-average grip on the subject.

The sisters supposed their reputations were perfectly intact.

The fact that Jane rode to and from Netherfield on horseback while Elizabeth walked was not out of the ordinary for the Bennet sisters.

It was not as if they invented horses or walking boots, and everybody knew the horses were often needed on the home farm.

Compared to the daily improprieties of the rest of the family, the sisters’ exit from Netherfield was hardly noteworthy.

The servants would no doubt gossip amongst themselves.

However, even in the consternation of leaving Netherfield, both sisters were meticulous to ensure none were within hearing of the debacle.

Simon saw and heard part of it but would be silent as the grave, as would his sister, Jenny.

Aside from the unusual timing of their departure, they judged most would assume Jane was not as sick as originally thought, or Mrs Bennet exaggerated her illness for her own reasons (a not unnatural surmise).

Since Jenny, the Bennet sisters, and Mrs Hill were the only ones who truly knew how ill Jane was; they judged their secret safe enough. Staying overnight and returning under her sister’s escort was unusual but not outlandish.

As for the Netherfield party—had they made a better impression on the neighbourhood, the sisters suspected nobody would have given it a second thought.

However, since nobody but Mr Bingley had made any real attempt to be agreeable, the neighbours might be inclined to read more than the ladies liked into their departure—or not.

Either way, their departure was unlikely to fuel gossip for more than a few days if they could convince their mother to hold her tongue.

Of course, therein lay a real difficulty.

Naturally, the Netherfield gentlemen were rich and single, so a certain amount of gossip was inevitable.

When Jane’s pointed association with Mr Bingley went off, most would assume it was just one of those things.

He would not be the first (or last) man to show interest in a Bennet daughter but give up when faced with her difficult family and precarious financial position.

The neighbourhood would assume he was being practical, and while they might fault the gentleman, they would not especially punish him for it, nor would they think less of Jane.

For that matter, it was common for any nascent couple to see a lot of each other for a few weeks, only to find they did not rub well together.

Eventually, they would mostly be relieved and excited to have Jane out of the competition.

With those thoughts in their heads, the elder Bennet sisters prepared to join their family for the walk to church.

The Netherfield residents had attended their church two of the four Sundays in the county, so the sisters did not know (or particularly care) if they would be present or not.

Jane and Elizabeth just wanted to get through the morning without drama.

With their family, it seemed unlikely, but one could always hope.

~~~~~

The three eldest travelled in a clump, closer to their parents than usual, ready to defend each other against anything untoward that may or may not happen. They were not hiding behind their parents per se, but they were in no mood for chatter before services.

When they arrived, Mr Darcy was the only Netherfield resident in attendance.

He was chatting cordially with Sir William.

Since that mostly consisted of listening without looking excessively bored, he at least seemed able to manage it.

The gentleman tipped his hat to the Bennets and bowed politely but otherwise kept his attention on his companions.

The three sisters, who were watching him like a hawk, feigned bored indifference, curtsied, and wandered over to speak with Charlotte Lucas for a few minutes before entering.

Elizabeth deeply pondered his response (again).

To the best of her recollection, the gentleman had gone out of his way to be as polite as circumstances allowed since his setdown.

Even watching Jane being ill from the back of her horse might be seen as a kindness, if viewed in a prudential light.

Someone making the argument the men were finally trying to achieve the minimum duties of a gentleman would at least have a point.

Elizabeth kept the man in view from the corner of her eye; but otherwise thought if she had spent so much time chastising the Netherfield party’s manners, the least she could do is pay attention to her friend.

Charlotte asked curiously what happened to the rest of the missing party.

Jane did not appear inclined to speak, so Elizabeth simply observed they had only attended half of the services since their arrival, so their absence was not remarkable.

They might be in Meryton or may even have gone to town since the sisters clearly favoured it.

The latter was either pure speculation or optimism.

For her part, Jane was ever so happy the Bingleys were absent since it gave her one less thing to worry about.

She knew she must meet the party, and Mr Bingley in particular, as indifferent acquaintances sooner or later—but she vastly preferred later .

It was not as good as the vastly preferable never , but better than having to answer awkward questions so soon after their nascent friendship went off.

They spent the usual quarter hour trying to ignore Mrs Bennet’s speculation on the location of the missing Bingleys, then finally shuffled into their pew in the usual way.

~~~~~

Mr Turner, the Longbourn vicar, walked to the pulpit as usual. He was a middle-aged man with a son and daughter, both grown and married. He had been the vicar for some time, and his children had grown up in the area. They were friendly with the Bennets but never particularly close.

To Elizabeth’s potential chagrin, he dedicated a portion of his sermon to several lessons on forgiveness.

Mary was following along raptly, while Jane looked slightly uncomfortable, wondering what the good reverend knew, did not know, or suspected.

She hoped the man knew nothing about their situation and the subject was happenstance—but it was still disconcerting.

One verse from Luke stuck in Elizabeth’s mind particularly: ‘Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.’

She had no idea what to do with the thought.

It was nothing she had not heard before but still worthy of some reflection.

She thought they forgave their mother and younger sisters for multiple offences nearly every day, but did the lesson apply to her situation?

Did she owe forgiveness to the Netherfield party?

Conversely, did they deserve forgiveness from her?

Did hers and Jane’s rudeness cancel out theirs?

Did her desire to defend her sister outweigh the responsibility to act with decorum? She truly had no idea.

Though Elizabeth spent considerable time and attention on that part, it was only a small bit of a much longer sermon. It seemed likely, she was just preoccupied with it because of its applicability to her situation.

Of course, applying the sermon to her daily life was the whole point of attending services in the first place, was it not?

~~~~~

By the time the closing hymn finished, Elizabeth had put all thoughts aside for later reflection when she was in a place where she could not hear Mr Darcy’s (admittedly fine) singing voice.

She sheepishly admitted that having his voice joined with hers in song was more disconcerting than it should have been.

Looking at Jane and Mary, she saw they both looked calm and collected—but then again, Jane looked calm and collected in the Netherfield parlour, so she could not read too much into it.

As the closing hymn finished, Elizabeth awaited her turn to exit. As one of the leading families, they would leave quickly then endure a half-hour or more of gossip in the churchyard. The weather was warm for that time of year, but it was the middle of November.

Mr Turner paused briefly, which meant he had something to say.

Announcements at the end of service were not unheard of.

The parish elders occasionally made announcements, the vicar might mention other church activities planned for the week, ordinary folks would occasionally give a few words, or on rare occasions they would call banns.

While the assembly was slightly restive, they gave him their full attention since whatever he had to say was unlikely to take long.

Mr Turner spoke in his ordinary preaching voice. “A gentleman has asked to address the congregation, so I request your brief attention.”

He stared down a couple of young boys who were slightly restless, then gestured to the Netherfield pew. “Mr Darcy.”

A murmur went up, but Mr Turner quieted them with a long-suffering look. This was far from his first sermon and the reaction was as expected.