Page 30

Netherfield – Still Room - Betty

T he still room was warm and quiet, filled with the soft crackle of the fire and the scent of rosemary and beeswax. Betty stepped inside with a bundle of folded napkins, meaning only to drop them in the linen press-but paused as voices carried in from the corridor.

“…I’d only gone down for bricks,” came Meg’s voice, low and a little breathless. “And Samuel was near the pantry. He smiled at me.”

Betty stilled, halfway through straightening a shelf.

“You stopped,” said Jenny, the scullery maid, with a smirk in her tone. “You always stop when he smiles.”

Meg laughed. “Well, would not you? It was barely five minutes.”

A pause.

“But when I came back up,” Meg said, her voice shifting, “I saw the door to the master’s room-his real one, not the blue guest room-was open a little. And Miss Elizabeth was inside.”

Jenny gave a little gasp. “Was he with her?”

“No,” Meg whispered. “He’d just gone. I heard his boots down the corridor. I swear it was him. She must have had a fright. She was pale the next morning. Do you remember?”

“And you were supposed to be there,” Jenny said.

Meg hesitated. “I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything. Not really. But I saw .”

The voices faded down the corridor as the girls moved on.

Betty stood very still. She didn’t want to hear more. She hadn’t meant to hear that much. But she had. And she couldn’t forget it.

When she turned back toward the table, she nearly dropped her linen at the sight of Mrs Nicholls watching her from the far end of the room.

“Something troubling you, Betty?”

“I-” She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to listen, ma’am. But I heard something. Meg was talking to Jenny. About Miss Elizabeth. About… Mr Darcy.”

Mr Morris set down his teacup with a soft clink.

Mrs Nicholls’s voice was steady. “And what did she say?”

Betty recounted it as best she could-hesitant, quiet, and without embellishment.

When she finished, Mrs Nicholls folded her arms. “And she was meant to be in the room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s the trouble, then,” said Mr Morris quietly. “She saw something she should not have-but not because of them. Because she was not where she was meant to be.”

“And now she’s covering for it,” said Mrs Winters, stirring a pot. “With a story that will not sound half so innocent once it’s been told three more times.”

Mrs Nicholls exhaled. “She will be spoken to. Kindly, but clearly.”

“And the others?” Mr Morris asked.

“They will be reminded of their place,” she said. “This house does not trade in scandal.”

“Even so,” said Mrs Winters, “I’d wager it’s halfway to Meryton by now.”

Mrs Nicholls gave a curt nod. “Then we will see how far it travels-and how fast.”

* * *

Longbourn - Drawing Room - Elizabeth

No objection was made to the young ladies’ engagement with their aunt, and all of Mr Collins’ scruples about leaving Mr and Mrs Bennet for a single evening were steadily-if politely-resisted.

He had declared his intention to remain at home and “watch over Miss Elizabeth’s recovery,” but was assured, in no uncertain terms by Mr Bennet himself, that such duties were unnecessary.

At a suitable hour, the coach conveyed Mr Collins and his four cousins to Meryton.

Elizabeth, though improving, remained at home with her foot propped neatly on a cushion and a book in her lap-though she found herself reading very little.

The house felt quieter without the younger girls’ ceaseless chatter, and even Mary had gone, persuaded by the promise of cards and conversation of a more respectable nature.

Mrs Bennet had overseen their departure with great satisfaction and reminded Mr Collins no less than twice that he must make himself agreeable.

Jane, at Elizabeth’s gentle urging, had gone too-on the promise of taking care not to overexert herself, and with a look back that said more than words about her reluctance to leave.

Elizabeth, alone at last, let her head rest back against the cushion and the silence settle comfortably around her.

Left to herself, Elizabeth returned to the volume she had begun at Netherfield-a worn copy of Gilpin’s Observations on the River Wye , pulled from her father’s shelf.

The binding was familiar, the pages foxed at the corners, but the margins were clean.

Too clean. She had grown used, during her convalescence at Netherfield, to Mr Darcy’s habit of pencilling faint notes beside the passages-terse, neat observations that somehow managed to be both exacting and dryly amused.

They had irked her at first. Then intrigued her. Then… well.

She turned a page, half expecting a faint stroke of graphite. But of course, there was none. Only Gilpin’s words and her own thoughts, which felt oddly companionless.

Elizabeth dined quietly with her parents that evening.

The table felt oddly spacious without her sisters’ chatter, and the meal passed with a gentle solemnity she had not expected.

Mr Bennet asked after her ankle, and Mrs Bennet-already in anticipation of the ball at Netherfield, if Mr Bingley actually decided to hold one.

Mrs Bennet, stirring her wine with absent-minded satisfaction, turned to Elizabeth with a meaningful smile.

“Now that you’re on the mend, I dare say we may soon have cause for more celebration.

Mr Bingley has been so very attentive. And a ball with be the very thing.

I am sure he will propose to dear Jane any day now.

Mark my words, Lizzy-a ball will come. It must. And when it does, you must be quite ready to dance. ”

“I will do my best Mama.” Elizabeth replied.

“I must invite them to dine, maybe next week? That will give me enough time to make sure there is some decent fish.” Mrs Bennet continued.

Afterwards, Elizabeth made her way back to the sitting room on her father’s arm and with her stick in the other hand and settled once more by the fire with her book.

The house was quiet. Too quiet, perhaps.

The fire cast long shadows across the open page.

She ran a finger along the margin, half expecting the ghost of a pencilled remark-but there was only blankness, and the quiet thrum of her own thoughts.

It was foolish, she told herself. Silly to miss the scribbles of a man who had barely spoken ten words to her in the last two days.

Still, as the fire crackled and the shadows shifted across the rug, she felt the ache of that absence. The unexpected pleasure of another mind quietly meeting hers-now gone.

A warm weight settled at her foot. Elizabeth looked down to find the cat, Pudding curled up neatly atop the pillow placed to elevate her ankle. She smiled faintly and reached to stroke behind her ears. Pudding let out a loud purr.

The firelight danced on the page, and she turned back to the book.

But her thoughts remained elsewhere.

* * *

Lucas Lodge - Drawing Room - Darcy

The drawing room at Lucas Lodge was modest, the company small, and the conversation genteel.

Sir William had offered a lengthy toast to the harmony of the neighbourhood and the honour of their guests, which Mr Bingley received with cheerful good grace.

Mr Darcy, meanwhile, found himself seated beside Miss Maria Lucas, who talked little and when she did it was of little of consequence.

Across the room, Bingley was engaged in a lively exchange with Miss Lucas, their conversation filled with easy laughter and warm familiarity.

Miss Lucas was one of Elizabeth’s closest friends-clever and composed, with a warmth that invited easy conversation.

Her younger sister, Maria, was pleasant but shy, and her contributions to dinner had so far included only one comment about the weather and a confused reference to a novel she had not finished.

Darcy accepted a glass of claret and made the appropriate responses, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

His thoughts were entirely at Longbourn, where Elizabeth’s cousin-of whom he knew nothing beyond vague mentions and a name-might be making himself agreeable.

Was he the sort of man to fawn and flatter?

Had he already attached himself to Elizabeth’s side, praising her courage, her attentiveness, her every movement?

Darcy could imagine it all too easily-and disliked the image intensely.

An excellent match it would be, lauded by the neighbourhood, very suitable on both sides.

Taking her mother’s role as mistress of Longbourn after her father’s passing, wife to a clergyman, with Lady Catherine as his patroness.

She would have a few children in Hunsford and then move back to Longbourn.

It made him feel sick.

The fire crackled, the ladies spoke softly, and still his mind returned to Longbourn.

Miss Bingley was laughing at something Sir William had said.

He glanced at Maria, who was recounting a walk to Oakham Mount. He nodded, smiled faintly, and turned the thought over once more:

Darcy said little for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Longbourn - Drawing Room - Elizabeth

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of wheels on gravel and a burst of laughter outside the front door. Moments later, the door opened and a flurry of cold air and cheerful voices swept into the house.

“Oh Lizzy, you missed everything!” Lydia cried as she swept into the sitting room, cheeks pink and curls loosened from the wind. “We had such a night! Mr Wickham is the most charming man alive-so witty, so handsome-you will be quite in love with him at first sight.”

Kitty followed close behind, grinning. Mary trailed them with less enthusiasm, her brows drawn.

Elizabeth sat up. “So you saw Mr Wickham again, then?”

Lydia nodded eagerly, bouncing into a chair. “He was there-so dashing in his regimentals!”

She paused as Mr Collins’s voice reached them through the open door.

“Charming evening,” he said. “She had hoped that Miss Elizabeth might be well enough to attend. It was a loss to the entire party that she was absent.”