Page 52 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
W hen Elizabeth exited her chamber, intending to knock on Jane's door and walk down to dinner with her, she was startled to find Miss Bingley approaching her door. The woman's face was pale, her usual composure visibly strained.
"Miss Elizabeth," she said, her tone carefully modulated, though Elizabeth detected a tremor beneath it. "A word in private, if you would be so kind? There has been rather an unfortunate incident involving a servant, and I believe you may have some particular interest in the matter."
Elizabeth raised her brows in surprise. She could hardly imagine what Miss Bingley might wish to discuss, though something in the woman's manner suggested more than casual conversation.
"An incident involving the servants?" Elizabeth asked.
"Indeed. The maid, Susan."
Elizabeth felt a chill of foreboding.
Miss Bingley's smile was perfectly polite, but her gaze was hard. "The same maid whose character you so confidently affirmed when I had concerns about my missing fan. Do you recall? "
Elizabeth did recall. She had impulsively defended the young woman from Miss Bingley’s wrath. "Yes, I remember."
"Because you were so adamant, I accepted your assurance. As your hostess, I could do no less." Miss Bingley's composure began to crack, real emotion bleeding through. "To think, I even gave her some soap and two entire candles, for she said her mother was ill."
"Miss Bingley, what has happened?"
"What has happened," Miss Bingley said, her voice now dropping to just above a whisper, tight with suppressed fury, "is that your honest, trustworthy Susan was pulled from the river this evening, having fallen through a section of the bridge with my mother's sapphire brooch in her basket.
It is only because the basket fell onto the bridge instead of the water that it was recovered. "
The words hit Elizabeth hard. "Your mother's brooch?"
Miss Bingley's voice cracked slightly. "She died when I was sixteen. That brooch was her favourite piece. And because you so fervently affirmed Susan’s character, I could have lost it forever to that little thief."
Elizabeth felt the ground shifting beneath her feet. She remembered now why Susan had left Longbourn. The girl had needed work that paid better wages to help her struggling family. Had desperation driven her to theft? She could scarce believe it.
"Miss Bingley, I . . . I am so sorry. I truly believed—" Elizabeth felt heat rise in her cheeks.
Miss Bingley was right to be angry. She was right to be f urious .
Elizabeth had interfered in household matters she did not fully understand, had championed someone whose character she had sorely misjudged.
The thought of Miss Bingley losing her mother's brooch because she had accepted Elizabeth's misguided assurance against her own will . . . it was genuinely awful.
"I have more I would say,” Miss Bingley said, glancing around Elizabeth and into the chamber, the door still partially opened. “ Perhaps it would be better to discuss this somewhere more private? I see that your maid is still inside, and I would not wish for such delicate matters to be overheard."
Elizabeth did not wish to accompany Miss Bingley anywhere.
But this was her fault, and the woman was owed a hearing and an apology at the very least. Thank goodness the brooch was safe, for Elizabeth did not know how she would ever raise the funds to compensate Miss Bingley for it, and the sentimental value could never have been recovered.
She followed Miss Bingley as they passed several doors, her mind reeling with guilt and dismay.
How could she have been so wrong? How could she have so impetuously interfered in a matter where her judgment had been so terribly flawed?
They turned a corner and walked a little longer before hesitating at a door to a room she had not seen before.
Miss Bingley opened it without comment and gestured for Elizabeth to enter.
Elizabeth stepped inside and glanced about her.
The room was small and dim, lit by several candles but with an air of disuse.
The furniture was draped in linen other than one settee, the shelves bore faint outlines of absent ornaments, and a fire in the hearth that smelled smoky.
The wood had either been in the rain or was not seasoned. No one else was there.
Behind her, the door shut with a soft but decisive click . The unmistakable turn of a key in a lock followed.
Elizabeth turned sharply. "Miss Bingley?"
The woman spoke through the door, her tone now coldly satisfied. "Do not be alarmed. You will be perfectly comfortable. The fire has been seen to, there is more wood to feed it, and your dinner will be sent up to your chamber once the rest of us have finished the meal."
Elizabeth stepped to the door, incredulous. "What is the meaning of this? "
"The meaning," Miss Bingley said, "is that I want one evening without having to look across the dinner table at the impertinent, interfering person whose meddling could have cost my mother’s gift to me."
Elizabeth felt the full weight of her error crushing down upon her. "Miss Bingley, I understand your anger, but this—"
"Do you?" Miss Bingley's voice turned bitter.
"Do you understand what it is like to lose the last tangible connection to a dead parent because you gave way, as duty required, to a person who believes she better understands managing servants or reading character?
And this is not all that has been stolen from me at Netherfield. "
Elizabeth pressed her palm against the door. "Please, let us discuss this properly. Allow me to apologise for my error and make restitution."
"Consider this your apology for interfering in matters beyond your understanding.,” Miss Bingley said.
“The bridge will be mended by tomorrow. You will be on your way soon enough, and I will not be returning.
There is little point in pretending we shall ever be friends.
I will have one final, peaceful dinner at Netherfield. "
Elizabeth was certainly willing to avoid Miss Bingley’s company after such news. “I shall absent myself, but please, allow me to return to my chamber.”
“You will forgive me if I do not feel I can trust you to remain there. Good evening.”
Elizabeth stood motionless for several moments after Miss Bingley's footsteps faded away, her hand still pressed against the door. The silence that followed felt heavy and final.
It was certainly an odd punishment, being locked away like a wayward child sent to the nursery without supper.
Under different circumstances, she might even have found it amusing.
But as the weight of her error settled fully upon her, Elizabeth found she could not summon any great indignation at her treatment.
Miss Bingley's anger, however extreme its expression, was entirely understandable.
Well, if she was to be imprisoned for the evening, she might as well make herself as comfortable as possible.
Elizabeth settled into the settee and allowed her mind to wander.
She thought of the dinner proceeding without her at this very moment, Miss Bingley leading everyone into the dining room, explaining her absence, directing conversation to other subjects, and dispensing gracious smiles.
Jane would come looking for her before long, but she would not know where to find her.
The fire shifted in the grate, drawing her attention back to her immediate surroundings.
The flames seemed to be struggling more than when she had first entered the room, appearing weak and uncertain, producing more smoke than heat.
Someone had done a poor job of laying it.
Perhaps one of the younger maids, tasked with preparing a room that saw little use and working with wood that had been inadequately dried.
Elizabeth pulled her gloves off and set them down.
She watched the smoke curl upward and felt a small prick of unease.
The chimney did not seem to be drawing properly.
Instead of disappearing cleanly up the flue, the smoke was beginning to swirl back into the room, creating a grey haze that was gathering near the ceiling like little storm clouds.
The acrid smell grew stronger, making her throat feel scratchy and raw.
Something was wrong. The draught that should have pulled the smoke upward was barely perceptible, almost non-existent. There must be some sort of obstruction in the flue— leaves perhaps, accumulated debris from the recent winds, or even a bird's nest that was blocking the proper flow of air.
The smoke was becoming thicker now, no longer confined to the upper reaches of the room but beginning to descend in wispy tendrils that made her eyes water.
Elizabeth looked around anxiously for some way to extinguish the fire, but there was nothing to hand, not even a bucket of water or sand near the hearth as there would be in a room that was regularly occupied.
There was not even a poker or shovel with which she might scatter the burning wood.
She returned to the door with growing urgency and rattled the handle once more, the metal cold and unyielding beneath her fingers. Then she pressed her ear against the solid wood, straining to hear any movement in the passage beyond. Nothing but silence greeted her efforts.
"Help!" she called, her voice carrying as far as she could project it. "Someone, please! I am locked in!"
The sound seemed to be absorbed by the heavy door and thick walls, swallowed up as though she had shouted into a void. No answering call came, no hurried footsteps. She called out again, louder this time, putting all her strength behind the words. "Help! Can anyone hear me?"
Still nothing.