Page 18 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“How very cheerful you are this morning, Mary,” Lydia said with a scoff. “Next you will tell us we cannot so much as smile at a gentleman without being branded as hussies.”
“I tell you only what the world is like,” Mary replied stiffly. “A lady’s reputation is her most precious possession. Once lost, it cannot be recovered.”
Lydia lifted her eyes with such exaggerated exasperation that Elizabeth wondered they did not escape from her head entirely. “You speak as if we had compromised ourselves merely by being in the same room with an officer.”
“Reputations have been ruined by less,” Mary said gravely. “A lady seen too often in a gentleman’s company, or discovered alone with him even for a moment, may find herself the subject of the most vicious gossip. The appearance of impropriety is often judged as harshly as impropriety itself.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched. The memory of the music room at Netherfield rose vividly in her mind — the shocking intimacy of his whispered declaration, the way he had drawn her onto his lap before she could protest, the press of his lips against her throat.
But the house had been quiet, had not it?
The servants being occupied elsewhere. The family was absorbed in their own concerns. No one had observed them.
Mary continued her lecture, unaware of the effect her words had produced.
“Even the most innocent encounter may be misconstrued if witnessed by servants or other parties. A whisper in the wrong ear, a maid’s idle chatter in the market square, and suddenly a lady is the subject of the most salacious rumours. ”
Jane’s eyes moved between Mary and Elizabeth, a small crease appearing between her brows. “Mary speaks wisely, though perhaps not gently. We must all be mindful of appearances, particularly when in company.”
“Oh, bother appearances!” Lydia exclaimed, springing from her chair. “Come, Kitty. Let us see if we can spot the regiment from the upstairs window at Aunt Phillips’s. I heard they exercised on the common this morning.”
The two youngest Bennet sisters departed in a flurry of muslin and excited whispers, leaving behind only the faint scent of lavender water and the echo of their footsteps on the stairs.
Mary returned to her correspondence with an air of dissatisfaction. “No good can come of their enthusiasm, except to serve as a cautionary tale.” She pushed her spectacles up her nose as if to emphasise her point.
Elizabeth sat heavily in the chair Lydia had vacated, still warm from its previous occupant. The memory pressed against her like a secret too dangerous to share.
Jane’s voice was soft when she spoke. “Lizzy?”
“Yes?”
“You need not look so troubled. We conducted ourselves with perfect propriety at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth managed a smile, though it was brittle at the edges. “Of course. What else should we have done?”
Darcy stood silently near the window, observing the rain falling steadily upon the lawn. The weather matched his mood—heavy, uncertain, and oppressive. At least it would benefit the crops. More immediate concerns demanded his attention.
Mrs. Hurst paced anxiously near the hearth, twisting her hands. Her voice rose sharply, breaking through the uneasy quiet. “Charles, you must see reason! My husband lies insensible upstairs. He has been in this terrible state for days. We cannot simply wait for matters to resolve themselves.”
Bingley, seated by the fire, gave a slow uneasy shake of the head. “Louisa, I share your concern. But to summon the magistrate—pray consider—such a course is not to be undertaken without grave deliberation.”
Miss Bingley, from her place on the sofa, intervened smoothly, though her voice carried a pointed edge.
“Surely, Charles, your hesitation is ill-judged. Our very safety may be in jeopardy—not to speak of our reputations. How might it appear, were we thought insensible to what may prove a deliberate act?”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably. He disliked the entire affair, loathed the idea of exposing their private concerns to a country magistrate.
Yet he could not ignore the reality of Hurst’s prolonged illness.
Nearly everyone in their party had been ill.
Such conditions did not arise without cause.
Fletcher had summoned his London physician, Mr. Louden, for him, but the doctor had spent the last days attending to Mr. Hurst, his expressions grave.
Darcy had to acknowledge the necessity of addressing a potential crime, though it disturbed him deeply.
“Darcy,” Bingley appealed abruptly, breaking into his thoughts. “You have heard their arguments. Tell me plainly—must we involve Mr. Harding?”
All eyes turned towards him. Darcy hesitated only a moment, weighing the risk of public exposure against the seriousness of Hurst’s condition.
“Much as it pains me, I believe your sisters are correct, Bingley. Mr. Hurst’s prolonged state of indisposition is alarming. The magistrate’s involvement, distasteful though it may be, is likely unavoidable.”
Mrs. Hurst seized immediately upon Darcy’s reluctant support. “You see, Charles? Even Mr. Darcy agrees. You must send for Mr. Harding at once.”
Miss Bingley offered Darcy an approving smile, her satisfaction palpable. Darcy’s irritation surged at her delight. He knew why she favoured this decision—it opened doors to suspicions he found repugnant, suspicions she wished directed towards Longbourn.
Bingley sighed heavily, finally relenting. “Very well. I shall send for Mr. Harding directly.”
As the others dispersed to their own occupations, Darcy turned again towards the window, eyes fixed upon the unrelenting rain.
Whatever might come of Harding’s inquiry, he resolved firmly to remain closely involved.
Elizabeth’s name would not suffer unjust suspicion or harm—not if he could prevent it.