Page 35 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

Sitting Room

Longbourn

A Few Days Later

Mrs. Bennet stared at Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Phillips in disbelief and then shook her head violently. “Lizzy and Mary go to Derbyshire? You cannot be serious! I need them both here, especially Lizzy!”

“Fanny, I am not asking your opinion about this,” Mr. Gardiner said sternly.

“I am telling you what is going to happen. Elizabeth is worn out tending to Mr. Bennet and assisting with the estate, and Phillips and I have decided that she needs to leave Longbourn for a time before her health breaks down.”

“But what about me?” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “Do you care nothing about me? Mr. Bennet is so ill, and Mr. Wallace does not know enough about Longbourn to manage, and…”

“Mr. Wallace is a very competent young man,” Phillips said gruffly. “The problem is that you and everyone else keep going to Elizabeth for assistance, when Mr. Wallace should be handling most of those things.”

“And why should we not!” Mrs. Bennet demanded angrily. “Mr. Bennet always said that Lizzy is the cleverest of our daughters, and now, when I really need her, when we need her, she is intending to leave Longbourn on holiday. No, I tell you, no!”

“Fanny, she is not going away on holiday, and neither is Mary,” Mr. Gardiner said, leaning forward.

“Listen to what I am saying. Surely you have noticed that both the girls are extremely tired and worn, and if week after week they keep trying to do more than they are capable of, they will fall ill. You would not want that, would you?”

His sister grimaced and said, “Of course I do not, but Lizzy never gets ill, or at least not seriously ill. Mary is more delicate, so she can go, but not Lizzy. I forbid it!”

“It is not in your power to forbid it, Sister,” Mr. Gardiner said calmly. “Phillips and I have legal power over both the estate and your daughters during Mr. Bennet’s illness.”

Frances Gardiner stared at her brother in disbelief and then began sobbing. A minute passed in silence save for the sobbing, and her male relations did not say anything, so she began weeping louder and shaking dramatically, and when that did not produce the desired result, she went into hysterics.

That only ended when Mr. Phillips walked over to a nearby vase of flowers, carefully removed the flowers, and threw the water in her face.

Why was everyone so cruel to her?

***

Netherfield

A Few Days Later

The rhythmic clopping of the gray gelding’s hooves was soothingly familiar as horse and rider headed down the road towards Meryton.

In his office that morning, Charles Bingley had reached for a sheet of paper so that he might add to his estate records, and found his stack sadly depleted.

He had called for hat and coat and horse and departed forthwith, politely rebuffing his butler’s offer to send a footman to make whatever purchases were required.

Bingley felt the need for fresh air himself this morning, rather than sitting cooped up in his office.

He would return to duty soon enough, but the outing was already doing him good as he took deep breaths of earth-scented air and listened to birdsong in the bare trees and twiggy hedges lining the lane.

The dirt of the road was hard beneath the gray’s hooves, with blessedly little dust rising.

There had not been heavy rains for a while, so there was no mud to speak of, but repeated frosts at night and warmer days had packed the dirt almost as hard as cobblestones.

Spring was being a fickle and flighty miss, coming nearly within reach before dancing away again, leaving behind person and beast shivering in cold wintry winds beneath grim gray skies, only to come creeping back on green-shod feet with warm sunlight the next day.

Today was one such day, when Spring was deigning to show her smiling face to the world.

The shivering bare trees were starting to wear a faint and fuzzy mist of green, while tiny buds swelled at the end of twigs.

Bingley’s eyes followed the path of a scampering squirrel, past a scolding robin and up into the bole of an elm, tail flicking as it chattered.

He smiled before his gaze slid beyond the trees to the field visible on the other side of the copse.

Here too, brown and dun were giving way to tentative green, tiny shoots poking up through soil that would soon be plowed and planted.

Bingley regarded the field thoughtfully as he rode past; it was one of his, he thought, or at least, Netherfield’s, and right now, that was the same thing.

Having grown up the son of a tradesman, and a wealthy one, Bingley’s first serious thoughts – rare as they had been – had been of numbers and columns, business and connections, friends and colleagues, ships and roads.

Then he had been sent to school, with more figures and columns, Latin and Greek, history, philosophy, and the polished manners of a gentleman.

He had strolled the streets of London with scarcely a glance at the ornamental trees and shrubs and flowers, had eaten of ham and beef and chicken, bread and vegetables, drunk of wine and ale and brandy, all without much consideration as to where any of it started.

Now he was master of an estate, albeit a leased one, and thought of things like wool and linen, mutton and meal, drainage and irrigation and fencing.

He pondered the lives of the men and women, and yes, children too, who worked the fields, milked the cows, churned the butter, took the corn and the wheat to the mill and brought back the grist. He thought of the tenants whose rents paid a gentleman’s income, whose hands worked his land.

He thought of his responsibilities to those men and women, simple folk who depended on their patrons for their substance.

It was a different life from the one Bingley had known growing up, and it was unquestionably an adjustment.

It was a good life, though, and though the learning of his new duties was a difficulty, it was a good one; the same feel as a long-neglected muscle being stretched, and exercised, and strengthened.

It was not settled that he would renew the lease on Netherfield, but he would spend this year learning everything that Netherfield and her inhabitants could teach him.

Wherever he ended up, he was determined to be a good master of his estate, kindly and honorable.

Netherfield Hall itself had been unaccustomedly quiet for the last weeks with only himself and the servants as residents.

Caroline, offended and furious at her brother’s changed demeanor, had accepted with alacrity his offer to escort her to London and hand her dowry into her possession.

Louisa, ever willing to do the bidding of her willful younger sister, had opted to return as well, and Hurst, indifferent to staying or leaving, had gone along with wife and sister by marriage.

Bingley had accompanied them, spoken with his solicitors and ensured all the paperwork was in order.

Caroline, having attained her majority, was now mistress of her own life and no longer his direct concern.

Regrettably, if not surprisingly, as soon as Caroline realized that Bingley truly meant to cut her off entirely, to no longer support her monetarily in any way, she was appalled.

Well-used to getting her way, she had interpreted his ultimatum as an opportunity to live her life as she pleased while still having access to his fortune.

When she grasped that he truly would no longer help her discharge her debts past, present, and future, she had thrown a tantrum in the solicitor’s office.

That was embarrassing and had truly been a sight to behold.

Bingley, well aware that he was incapable of reining her in, had wished his solicitor luck, recommended the man have her thrown out before she brought the building down, collected his hat and coat, and departed with a contented smile.

It was a wonderful feeling to be finally free of that responsibility.

Bingley had left London that very day to return to the mansion that was now his home and since then had applied himself diligently to learning to manage the estate.

Yet only a few days ago, another temptation had reared its alluring head – a letter, penned in Darcy’s elegant hand, extending an invitation for Bingley to join a house party that was being hosted at Pemberley in the next weeks.

Bingley, fondly remembering several other trips to the great estate in Derbyshire, resolved at once to go.

By the time he had woken up the next morning, Bingley was having second thoughts.

He would still like to see Darcy, and Pemberley was always luxurious and pleasant, and the house party with other guests, doubtless congenial, was a lure indeed.

However, his responsibilities to Netherfield, and her dependents, demanded his time and focus.

For one more day, he had considered accepting Darcy’s invitation nonetheless, but in his heart of hearts Bingley knew he would not accept.

That evening, alone in his study with only his fire for company, he had penned a regretful refusal and put it resolutely on the salver to be posted in the morning.

Bingley had thrown himself into his work since then, though he often thought of an excuse to ride out to Meryton.

With his hostess gone and no single gentlemen calling on the house, Bingley found himself growing rather lonely at times.

At least on Meryton’s main street, he often met acquaintances, many of whom were more than happy to stop and chat for a minute.

For instance, this morning, as he entered the town, he immediately spied two familiar women riding toward him.

As Caroline had once condescendingly noted, Bingley was not well acquainted with women’s fashion, but he thought that Miss Bennet and her sister Mary looked very well this morning.

Both wore well-cut riding habits, adorned with thin velvet ribbons in a single stripe, their pelisses buttoned closed against the chill of the day, with eminently practical hats sitting on their heads and thick woolen gloves on the hands that lightly clasped their reins.

Bingley pulled in his gray as he came abreast of the two ladies and doffed his hat with a bright smile.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Mary!” he exclaimed. “Good morning to you!”

“Good morning, Mr. Bingley,” Miss Bennet said. She looked a little tired, he decided, but she was as lovely as ever.

“May I inquire as to how your father is doing?” he asked.

The ladies sighed in unison, and Miss Mary said, “He is about the same, which is to say he is no better but also no worse.”

“That must be very difficult,” Bingley said sympathetically.

“It is, yes,” Miss Bennet agreed, her expression clouded. She shook herself slightly and said, “I hope you are well?”

“I am, thank you. Have you heard that my sisters and brother-in-law left for London some weeks ago?”

“We did, of course,” Miss Bennet said, and then added, with twinkling eyes, “That kind of news spreads rapidly through Meryton.”

“I am aware,” Bingley returned with a grin.

“I assume you have heard our news, that Elizabeth and I are journeying to Pemberley soon?” Miss Mary asked.

Bingley jerked a trifle in surprise. “Pemberley? No! I had not heard that!”

Miss Mary’s pink cheeks grew slightly pinker, and she said, “Yes, Mr. Darcy was kind enough to ask us to join him and Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam and my Gardiner relations at Pemberley. Our young Gardiner cousins are recovering from an illness and would benefit from fresher air than that of London, and Elizabeth and I are also worn out and in need of a change of scenery.”

Bingley’s gaze shifted to the lovely, calm countenance of Miss Bennet.

“You are not journeying to Derbyshire?” he asked carefully.

“I am not,” the lady replied. “I was invited, but someone must stay home to assist in the oversight of Longbourn and my father.

Mary huffed, her expression frustrated, and said, “I do wish you would come, Jane. You will be worn to the bone, and you know it.”

“Not with Kitty and Lydia and Miss Fairchild helping,” Jane said firmly. “Truly, Mary, I am honored by Mr. Darcy’s invitation, but I would rather stay here.”

Jane’s horse nickered and shifted a trifle under her, and she reached out to pat the mare’s neck. “Daisy is growing impatient. Good day, Mr. Bingley.”

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said impulsively.

“Yes?”

“I … that is, I do not wish to be forward, but I wondered if I could call on you and your family, but only if it is convenient. That is, with your father ill…”

“We would like you to visit,” Miss Bennet replied, to his profound relief.

“In the early days of my father’s illness, we found having visitors difficult, and I fear we showed it in our demeanor.

We have not had many callers for weeks now, and I think our mother, in particular, would relish speaking with people outside our family. ”

Bingley was disappointed at this statement, as it suggested that Mrs. Bennet would be more excited about his visit than Miss Bennet, but he would nonetheless begin calling on the family soon.

He still admired Jane Bennet tremendously, and if he could not win her as a wife, he hoped he could at least prove a good friend to the family amidst their struggles.