Page 6 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)

Elizabeth bent over a flower bed, staring down at a bevy of bedraggled begonias, “I do see what you mean, Hoskins. They look quite morose. You think the soil is too wet?”

The head gardener at Longbourn, a grizzled man who had served the Bennets for two decades, nodded dismally, “Yes, Miss Elizabeth, I believe so. I will have Peter mix in some lighter soil, and I hope we can save them, but they do look poorly.”

Elizabeth turned at the sound of clopping hooves and carriage wheels on the gravel drive which led to Longbourn.

There were two men on horseback who were instantly recognizable as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth also spied Miss Caroline Bingley through the carriage window. It made quite a procession.

“Thank you again, Hoskins,” Elizabeth said, bestowing a last smile on the old retainer before marching briskly toward the visitors.

“Good morning! Welcome to Longbourn,” she exclaimed as Mr. Bingley handed out his two sisters from the carriage.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley returned jovially, turning and bowing. Mr. Darcy also bowed, though he kept silent. “I hope this pleasant morning finds you well?”

“Very well indeed,” Elizabeth stated, “and you are all well?”

“We are,” Bingley affirmed. “What charming flowers, Miss Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth gazed around with satisfaction.

While the tulips were the life blood of the Bennet daughters’ fortunes, much money had been expended on a variety of flowers at Longbourn; this was partially because Mrs. Bennet greatly appreciated all flowers, and partly because it provided an excuse for the additional gardening staff and agricultural necessities flowing into Longbourn.

Since it was October, the flowers were not at their best, but the beds of crocuses, dahlias, cyclamens, and begonias dotted the landscape in a most attractive way.

“Thank you,” she answered happily, “My mother is very fond of flowers. But come, please enter.”

“It is all very lovely,” Mrs. Hurst said sincerely, looking around as the party began meandering toward the front door of Longbourn. “Our mother was also enthusiastic about flowers, but since our family home was farther north, the gardens were always dreary by late October.”

“What a very quaint home,” Miss Bingley declared, firmly wresting the conversation away from the grounds and onto the building itself.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied calmly. “The Bennets have lived at Longbourn for more than one hundred and fifty years, and it is precious to us.”

/

“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley pronounced once the visitors were settled in the drawing room. “You see that I have come prepared for battle.”

Jane looked at the man in surprise, and then chuckled as he solemnly produced a bag from his coat, which he opened to reveal an ivory set of ...

“Spillikins!” she cried out enthusiastically. “Well, sir, prepare to fall at my expert hand. Mama, perhaps Mr. Bingley and I can repair to the parlor and use the table there, with one of my sisters as an escort?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Bennet agreed cheerfully. “Kitty, would you be willing to accompany Jane and Mr. Bingley?”

Kitty rose to her feet obediently, and the three made their way out of the drawing room, leaving Mrs. Bennet, Mary, and Elizabeth to entertain their guests.

Lydia, who was quite a handy seamstress, was pottering around her room working on one of her gowns, and Elizabeth hoped she would stay away as she was not yet always well behaved in company.

“Elizabeth, would you kindly pour tea?” Mrs. Bennet requested as a maid came in with a tea tray.

Elizabeth did so, earning a murmur of thanks from Mr. Darcy and the two visiting ladies.

Darcy really was a fine figure of a man, and very handsome; it was a pity that he was so prideful and disagreeable.

“Mrs. Bennet, I must congratulate you on your gardens,” Mrs. Hurst commented. “They are quite the finest I have seen in this part of England!”

“They are indeed pleasant,” Miss Bingley added superciliously, “though of course nothing compared to the grand parks in London.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “We have a skilled head gardener, and my daughter Mary has a fine eye for flowers and greatly contributed to the design of our landscape.”

“How wonderful!” Louisa Hurst exclaimed, turning toward Mary with interest. “I was most impressed with the way the colors of the various blossoms mix so charmingly. May I ask how you come up with your designs? Perhaps something similar can be done at Netherfield ...”

The conversation between Mary, Mrs. Bennet, and Mrs. Hurst grew rather technical, and Elizabeth realized that it was her sad duty to entertain the two other guests, the arrogant Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley.

“What think you of Netherfield Hall?” she asked.

“It is a fine enough building,” Miss Bingley stated haughtily, “though I am not fond of some of the furnishings, which are sadly old fashioned.”

Elizabeth suppressed an irritated grimace; Longbourn was furnished in a similar style to Netherfield, so she could only assume that Miss Bingley was casting aspersions on the Bennet home.

“Which decorator do you most admire, Miss Bingley?” she asked gravely.

“Oh, Campbell, to be sure!” the lady replied brightly.

“His work for the Prince Regent must make him the best that fair England has to offer. Our home in London has already been updated in the Egyptian style, and if my brother were to purchase Netherfield, we will take it in hand and transform it into the most elegant mansion in all of Hertfordshire.”

“That sounds lovely,” Elizabeth commented, “though I confess that I prefer simpler furnishings.”

“I am sure you do, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said disdainfully.

“I too prefer a less ostentatious style,” Darcy stated in his deep voice. “The Prince Regent is well known for his elaborate furnishings, but Pemberley is decorated in a more temperate manner.”

“Ah, but Pemberley is entirely perfect in its more unaffected elegance!” his faithful companion cried out. “I have never seen such a delightful residence, and I cannot imagine anything which could improve it in the least.”

Elizabeth sighed inwardly at Miss Bingley’s illogical speech, and then turned toward the door as Jane’s pealing laughter sounded from the parlor, “It sounds as if Jane and Mr. Bingley are enjoying their match.”

“How charming that Charles has found another enthusiast of his childish game. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth, do you also enjoy playing spillikins?” Miss Bingley asked.

“I am quite dreadful at spillikins, regrettably,” Elizabeth admitted with a chuckle. “I do enjoy pall mall when the weather is fine, and vingt-un when it is not. My father is also a chess enthusiast, and I play with him often.”

Darcy tilted his head toward her with interest. “Is your father a particularly good player?”

Elizabeth nodded proudly. “Indeed, he is the best player in Meryton and its environs. I am always satisfied on those rare occasions when I prevail in our chess matches.”

“I would be quite surprised if your father were able to play Mr. Darcy and win, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said condescendingly, “I know that Mr. Darcy truly is a master at the game.”

“I would not say I am a master,” Mr. Darcy argued, “though I thoroughly enjoy a good game. Would Mr. Bennet be interested in playing a match with me someday?”

“I am quite certain he would, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth answered, nobly suppressing her irritation in favor of her father’s pleasure. In truth, it was difficult to find sufficiently skilled players for Mr. Bennet, who was a true adept. “Perhaps I could introduce you to my father now?”

Darcy rose with alacrity. “That would be delightful, Miss Elizabeth. Thank you.”

/

“Mr. Darcy, may I please introduce my father, Mr. Bennet? Father, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy is a great chess enthusiast, and I told him that you could provide him with a challenging game.”

Mr. Darcy gazed upon his host with interest as the two men bowed to one another. Mr. Bennet was a man of some fifty years, his hair a mix of black and white, his height not above average. He was not a particularly handsome man, but there was keen intelligence in his brown eyes.

“Indeed, I would be delighted to play a match with you, Mr. Darcy,” he proclaimed. “Elizabeth is the only one in my family who can give me a decent game. My dear, would you care to watch our epic battle?”

“No thank you, Father. I must return to the drawing room,” Elizabeth demurred as she curtsied.“Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he returned with a bow.

The door closed behind her along with a swish of her skirts, and Mr. Bennet walked over to a chessboard near the pleasantly crackling fire.

“Black or white, sir?” Mr. Bennet inquired.

“Black, please.”

“As you wish.”

Darcy settled into his seat and found himself gazing around with a mixture of awe and delight at the gleaming shelves filled with literally hundreds of books.

He had not expected a simple country squire to have such an impressive library, and he had a sudden longing to poke among the shelves in search of treasures.

“Ah, a fellow bibliophile, I see!” Mr. Bennet remarked with a chuckle. “I recognize that look. After our chess game, perhaps we can look at some of my favorite treasures.”

“A delightful plan, Mr. Bennet.”

/

“Miss Bennet is a most remarkable player at spillikins,” Bingley said jovially as the two gentlemen guided their mounts onto the road which led back to Netherfield. “We played five times and I won only twice. Quite extraordinary!”

While Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had left promptly after a half hour visit, the two gentlemen from Netherfield had stayed on for a full hour and a half.

Bingley was quite confident of his welcome past the usual time, since Mrs. Bennet had made her delight at his presence entirely clear.

As for Miss Bennet herself – well, she was quite the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld, and she was charming and kind and gracious.

“Was your chess game enjoyable, Darcy?”

A full thirty seconds went by without an answer and Bingley turned his head, only to observe that his friend was staring between his horse’s ears, his expression more than ordinarily blank.

“Darcy?” he prompted.

The master of Pemberley shook himself and turned apologetically, “I am sorry, Bingley. I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Mr. Bennet owns a very early edition of the Bible which must be worth a remarkable sum,” Darcy mused. “He also owns first editions of all three volumes of the adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Defoe.”

Bingley blinked at his friend in confusion, “That must be quite exciting given that you love books so much, Darcy.”

“How can he afford such literary riches?” Darcy demanded, turning in his saddle to stare into his friend’s eyes. “Longbourn is a fine estate, but not a large one. I doubt it makes much more than two thousand pounds per annum.”

“Perhaps his father or grandfather obtained them in the past?” his friend hazarded. “In any case, why does it matter?”

“Come, Bingley, you know why I am here in Hertfordshire.”

Now the younger man looked horrified. “You think the Bennets are ... are associated with French spies? Surely that is quite impossible!”

“It does seem very unlikely,” Darcy admitted with a sigh.

“There is no obvious artifice in any of the women and Mr. Bennet seems an indolent intellectual, not the sort of man who would be engaged with the Enemy. Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps he acquired those precious volumes from his ancestors. Nonetheless …”

He trailed away, his brow furrowed.

“Nonetheless?” Bingley prompted.

“I believe it would be well to cultivate spending time with the Bennets,” Darcy said slowly.

Bingley stared at him worriedly and protested, “Surely it is far more likely that someone else, like a member of the militia, is a guilty party.”

“Yes, quite possibly. The truth is that the more I know about the inhabitants of this place, the better. The question is how to spend time with others without raising suspicions as to my motives.”

Bingley chuckled. “Only you could say such a thing, my friend. It is simple enough to spend time with people. We invite them to dinner, and accept invitations, and attend assemblies, and hold a ball, and we will thus rub shoulders with all those of the upper classes. The servants, not so much, but I assume you think that the spy is a member of the elite?”

“It seems likely, yes. But come, Bingley, did you say you would hold a ball at Netherfield? I cannot ask such a thing of you; it would be a tremendous bother.”

“Nonsense. I would enjoy nothing more, and Caroline is longing to show off her skills as a hostess.”

Darcy shook his head in wonder. An intensely private individual, he disliked interacting with dozens of unknown persons, and found balls exceptionally tedious.

“Thank you, my friend. I deeply appreciate it.”