Page 68 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
Mrs. Clarke’s colour rose, but her voice was steady. “Indeed, Miss Bingley. And in my house, those who sneer at their neighbours soon find themselves very poorly accommodated.”
A ripple of laughter and murmurs ran through the listeners. Miss Bingley stiffened, but Mrs. Clarke merely inclined her head with perfect composure.
Sir William himself looked thunderous, struggling between his duties as host and his desire to defend his guests.
It was at that moment that Bingley heard the sounds from across the room and saw what was happening. His smile faded as he took in Miss Bingley’s condescending posture, Mrs. Clarke’s expression of annoyance, and the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over that section of the room.
“Caroline,” he said quietly when he reached her side, “may I have a word?”
“Oh, Charles, I was just telling Mrs. Clarke how very much I admire her devotion to her calling,” Miss Bingley replied with satisfaction at what she fancied to be her own wit.
“I see,” Bingley said, his voice carefully measured. “Perhaps we might step aside a moment.”
“Whatever for? I am only doing as you asked—mingling with the neighbourhood. Though I had not anticipated refinement to be in such short supply.”
Bingley coloured. “Caroline, we discussed this. You were to make amends for your previous discourtesy, not aggravate it with further affronts.”
“Affronts?” Miss Bingley’s voice rose with injured innocence. “I have been perfectly civil! If these people are so fastidious as to take offence at plain truths, that is hardly my fault.”
“You know perfectly well what you are about.”
“I am merely candid,” Miss Bingley shot back, her voice now pitched high enough for half the room to hear. “Something you seem to have forgotten in your infatuation with provincial society.”
The words dripped with contempt, and several faces nearby registered the slight to the whole company.
“Caroline, you will apologise at once, or we leave,” Bingley said, his patience at an end.
“I shall not apologise for speaking the truth,” Miss Bingley declared, her voice ringing out. “If you choose to lower yourself, that is your affair. But do not expect me to pretend that keeping company with tradesmen and farmers is anything other than a lamentable fall in standards.”
Absolute silence followed. Every conversation ceased; every eye was turned upon them. Jane’s heart burnt with mortification—not for herself, but for the neighbours so insulted, and for Bingley, forced to choose between sister and principle in the most public of ways.
When Bingley spoke again, his words were low but carried to every corner. “You are correct in one respect, Caroline. I have made a choice. I prefer the society of those who value kindness, integrity, and genuine civility above pretension and disdain.”
“How noble of you,” Miss Bingley sneered. “I suppose your local companions have schooled you to value such rustic virtues.”
Without another word, Bingley took his sister firmly by the arm and conducted her towards the door.
“Charles! What are you doing? Unhand me this instant!”
“I am removing you from the company of people who merit far better treatment than you have shown them,” Bingley said, his voice carrying steadily through the room.
“How dare you! I am your sister!”
“Then conduct yourself as one I might take pride in,” he returned, not slackening his pace.
At the door he turned to the assembled company.
Miss Bingley struggled against his hold, her face flushed with fury and mortification, but he addressed the room with grave composure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you will accept my sincerest apologies. My sister’s behaviour this evening—and indeed during her whole stay in Meryton—has been inexcusable.
I ought to have spoken sooner. I can only hope you will not think too ill of me for her conduct, though I should hardly blame you if you did. ”
Sir William stepped forward. “My dear Bingley, no apology is necessary from you. Your own conduct has always been everything we could wish.”
“You are too kind, Sir William. But I fear I must remove my sister before she can cause further offence. Please, continue your celebration. Do not allow her rudeness to spoil what should be a joyful evening.”
Miss Bingley took advantage of Bingley’s distraction to strike at the panelling in exaggerated protest, nearly breaking his grip. She wailed with the indignation of one grievously wronged.
In response, Bingley caught her about the waist and steered her, still protesting, from the room, her voice fading as they moved towards their waiting carriage.
The room remained silent after their departure until Sir William clapped his hands together with determined cheer.
“Well then! I believe this calls for a toast. To friends who know the difference between consequence and character!”
The company responded with enthusiasm, conversations resuming with even more warmth than before. Jane was surrounded by well-wishers, all eager to praise Bingley.
“Your young man showed a very proper spirit there, Miss Bennet. Few gentlemen would set duty above partiality to their own relations, and do it before the world,” Mrs. Clarke said.
“A gentleman best honours his family when he will not excuse unkindness,” Jane said softly.
The carriage ride back to Netherfield passed in frigid silence. Miss Bingley sat rigid in the corner, her face flushed with humiliation and fury, whilst Charles stared out the window with jaw set in that infuriating expression of grim determination she had come to despise.
When they arrived, he dragged her directly into the drawing room and closed the door with deliberate finality.
“Charles, how dare you subject me to such public—”
“Enough.” His voice cut through her protests like steel. “Your behaviour to-night was inexcusable, and I will not tolerate it again.”
“I was entirely civil to those people—”
“You insulted every person in that room,” Charles said coldly. “You treated good people like servants. That was not civility, Caroline. That was cruelty.”
Miss Bingley drew herself up with wounded dignity. “I was upholding our family’s reputation!”
“You were indulging your own sense of superiority at the expense of decent people,” he corrected.
“I will tolerate your rudeness no longer. I mean to make Hertfordshire my permanent home. This is where I shall live. I must ensure I am accepted in the community, and I never truly can be whilst you undermine me at every turn.”
“Surely, Charles, you might find an estate in a neighbourhood with people of consequence. Why in Derbyshire—”
Charles cut her off. “I am choosing happiness over consequence. This is my decision. What is more, I must ensure that my future wife is not exposed to the total want of propriety so frequently uniformly betrayed by you.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Which brings me to the matter of your future arrangements.”
Something in his voice made Miss Bingley twist to face him. “My arrangements?”
“You shall not remain at Netherfield,” Charles said without hesitation. “I will not allow you to embarrass me further in front of my chosen community.”
“You cannot mean to cast me out!”
“I mean to provide you with your own establishment,” Charles corrected. “You have twenty thousand pounds settled upon you, enough to maintain a modest household of your own. My solicitor will assist you in finding suitable accommodations.”
Miss Bingley’s mind raced. Perhaps this was merely a temporary setback. Once Charles married Miss Darcy such arrangements would surely be reconsidered.
“Very well,” she said with careful dignity. “If you feel my presence would be inconvenient during the early period of your marriage, I shall accommodate your wishes.”
“This is not a temporary arrangement, Caroline,” Charles said, reading her thoughts with uncomfortable accuracy. “You will establish your own household and live independently. I will assist with practical matters, but you will live within your means. Netherfield will no longer be your home.”
The finality in his voice pierced even her pride. Without the shelter of his household, without the borrowed consequence of his name, her footing would slip fast.
“You have one month to make your arrangements,” Charles continued.
Miss Bingley’s composure finally cracked. “Charles, you cannot mean to abandon your own sister!
“I have given you every opportunity to conduct yourself with decency, and you have spurned them all.”
“I shall write to our aunt! I shall tell everyone how you have abandoned your own family for these provincial nobodies!”
“You may write to our aunt, you may appeal to anyone you choose, but my decision is final.”
He moved towards the door, then paused. “I hope you find some measure of contentment in your independence, Caroline. But you will find it without dictating mine.”
After he left, Miss Bingley went to her own chamber and sank into a chair, her mind reeling.
This was a considerable setback, but not an insurmountable one.
She would establish her modest household and wait for the proper moment to reclaim her rightful place.
After all, what bride would not benefit from the counsel of an experienced, well-connected sister-in-law? She called for her maid.
Tugging her gloves off with controlled elegance as Sophy unfastened her gown, she said airily, “I have decided that it is time I established my own household.” Sophy’s hands paused mid-button. “Ma’am?”
Miss Bingley caught her eye in the mirror and offered a smile of practised serenity. “It is only proper. With Mr. Bingley preparing to take a bride, Netherfield will become her domain. I should not wish to overshadow her.”
Sophy resumed her task, wisely silent.
“Besides,” Miss Bingley continued, lifting her chin, “a woman of my means ought not to linger beneath her brother’s roof forever. I shall find something charming in Bath. Or perhaps Tunbridge Wells. Somewhere select, yet not insipid.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Sophy murmured.
Miss Bingley’s smile deepened. “It will do them good, to muddle along without me. Once the shine wears off domestic bliss, they will feel the void and welcome my presence.”
Sophy gave a soft hum of assent, folding the gown with studied care. It would not do to smile—not yet. But in the privacy of her thoughts, she pictured the master and his bride, managing perfectly well.
A woman truly wanted was not permitted to leave a fine house. She was asked to stay.
Bath and Tunbridge Wells were full of ladies seated alone at breakfast tables, telling themselves that callers had simply missed the hour. Miss Bingley would not be the first.
She placed the gloves in the drawer and curtsied. Let her mistress dream of cheerful exile and overdue gratitude. Sophy, who packed the trunks and paid the laundress, knew better.