Page 7 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Netherfield

Caroline Bingley, younger sister of Charles Bingley, put down her needlework and regarded the drawing room of Netherfield with a critical eye.

The best that could be said for it – and for most of the house – was that it was in good repair.

The furniture that had come with the house was appallingly outdated; she almost wished it had not been let with furnishings.

At least then if Charles insisted on renting an estate in such a terribly backwater locale, she could have chosen fashionable furniture and decorations to astound the local minor gentry.

If only her brother had found an estate closer to Darcy’s estate of Pemberley!

She hoped that her brother would not renew the lease next year and instead remove to a more sensible location.

Surely his idiotic infatuation with Miss Jane Bennet would soon run its course.

Even her brother could not be such a fool as to develop a tendre for the lady, who while very sweet, was both poor and poorly connected.

Solicitors! Tradesmen! An extraordinarily vulgar mother and younger sisters!

And Miss Eliza the worst of the lot, with her hoydenish tromping about the countryside, with not even a maid in attendance!

And that pert tongue of hers! Why, Caroline would never dream of arguing with a gentleman – Charles did not count, and rarely argued anyway – the way Miss Eliza argued with Mr. Darcy!

Fine eyes indeed, Caroline thought with a contemptuous sniff, more like shrewish. Men could be so blind.

The door opened, drawing Miss Bingley’s attention, and she watched with irritation as her brother strode into the room and hurried over to the well-built fire, where he turned to enjoy the warmth on his back and legs.

“Where have you been, Charles?” she asked sharply. “You said that you would write a letter to our banker today about my need for additional funds this quarter.”

Bingley was usually an easy going man, but his sister’s complaining struck a nerve on this occasion.

He and Darcy had successfully avoided Bingley’s sisters when they returned to Netherfield wet, smoky, and horribly dirty.

Their respective valets had shown signs of swooning at the sight of their masters, but now Bingley was clean and dry, though his legs and arms ached from the strenuous activity of moving full buckets of water.

The flames heating his back were enormously comforting.

“I was at Longbourn,” he said irritably, “and so was Darcy. The east wing of the mansion caught on fire this morning, and we, along with the militia officers and most available able bodied men in the area, were fighting the flames. Did you really hear nothing of the disaster?”

His other sister, Louisa Hurst, squeaked in horror and cried out, “Oh, Charles, how very dreadful! Was anyone hurt?”

“Miss Mary broke her arm, and Mrs. Bennet injured her ankle. The other Bennet ladies were in Meryton at the time and thus escaped injury. Mr. Bennet is safe as well.”

“That is most regrettable,” Caroline said, “but I do not see why you and Mr. Darcy were asked to help. Fighting fires is hardly the purview of a gentleman!”

“We volunteered, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said from his position at the door of the drawing room. “Furthermore, I would argue that in a time of emergency, it is the responsibility of every honorable man to assist in every way possible.”

“Indeed it is,” Bingley agreed, darting an irritated glance at Caroline before turning to Darcy and saying, “Do come over here, Darcy, and warm yourself by the fire. Are you as sore as I am?”

“I am aching and extremely tired,” Darcy admitted, striding over to take a position next to his friend, “but no doubt a good night’s sleep will put all to rights. I confess to being ravenous as well.”

“Caroline, is there any chance that dinner can be moved forward?” Bingley asked.

Miss Bingley would never lose a chance to please Mr. Darcy, whom she hoped would offer his hand in marriage in time. “Of course! I will speak to the cook immediately!”

/

Drawing Room

The Phillips’ residence

Meryton

Elizabeth moved a little closer to her elder sister, finding comfort in Jane’s near proximity. It had been a terrifying day, and while she prided herself on her courage, at the moment she felt a strong urge to weep. She could have lost both mother and sister today or worse!

“I think the east wing is completely destroyed,” Mr. Bennet said to his four daughters from his chair nearest the fire.

He had changed into his brother-in-law’s dressing gown and slippers, and his own clothing was being cleaned and dried by the housekeeper, who had clucked in dismay at the sight of the fine fabric so cruelly mistreated with ash.

Mrs. Bennet was napping upstairs, and Mary, well dosed with laudanum, was asleep in the sitting room, with a maid sitting nearby to watch over her.

“And the rest of the house?” Jane asked, her beautiful face pale in the soft candlelight.

“I have not been inside the remainder of the house yet, but the outer structure seems intact,” their father said.

“The east wing was the original part of Longbourn, you know; the rest of the house was built some years later. I suspect that the stone walls of the original structure, which were enclosed by wood and plaster, kept the fire from spreading quickly into the other parts of the house. That and the valiant efforts of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Colonel Forster, saved us from losing our entire home.”

“I am not surprised that Mr. Bingley and Colonel Forster were so helpful,” Elizabeth said and then continued with some disdain, “but I am a little surprised that Mr. Darcy was willing to lower himself in such a way.”

Mr. Bennet turned his face toward her, and Elizabeth was startled at the anguish on his countenance.

“Lizzy, I know you dislike Mr. Darcy,” he said heavily, “but we all owe him an insurmountable debt. I think it is almost certain that we would have lost Longbourn without his efforts. He arrived minutes after Mary and Fanny fell from the second story, and I was too distressed and dazed to direct the servants. It was Mr. Darcy who arranged for the bucket chains, and it was he who guided the servants to throw water inside the drawing room and dining room to prevent the fire from spreading into the rest of the house. Mr. Bingley, Sir William Lucas, Colonel Forster, Mr. Milton, and many others, were extremely helpful, but it was Mr. Darcy who commanded the troops while I stood in the summer house and wrung my hands.”

Elizabeth gulped, rose, and walked over to sink down on the wooden floor to grasp her father’s hands in her own. “It was a most distressing situation, Father, and you were naturally horrified and aghast. You must not be too severe upon yourself.”

“I did not even realize that your mother was still abed,” her father said, and he suddenly looked ten years older.

“I ordered Mary to leave the house and did not even consider that ... well, my dears, if it were not for your sister, your mother would be dead. I will never forgive myself for not being certain of her whereabouts. It was my responsibility to keep my wife safe, and I failed completely.”

“Oh Father!” Jane exclaimed, her voice breaking. “Pray do not think in such a way! It was a natural mistake, as Mamma rarely lies abed so late in the morning! We should, instead, be thankful to God that all is well.”

“All is well?” Lydia repeated sharply. “All is most definitely not well! My bedroom is reduced to ashes, as are all my clothes, my jewelry, and my trinkets! How did the fire start?”

“That we do not know,” Mr. Bennet said wearily. “The fire started upstairs. Perhaps a servant was careless while doing his or her tasks.”

“I think it was Mr. Collins,” Lydia said irritably. “He is such a clumsy man; I believe he started the fire while he was getting ready to walk to Meryton.”

“That is a distressing thing to say!” Jane said reprovingly. “There is no reason to think that Mr. Collins is at fault.”

“Furthermore, his bedchamber is not in the east wing,” Elizabeth pointed out. “No, I daresay it was a servant who was careless while scraping out a fire or something of the sort. We will probably never know.”

“You went up to change your hat right before we left for Meryton, Lydia,” Kitty said suddenly. “Did you smell any smoke?”

Lydia wrinkled her nose and lowered her brow. “No,” she said slowly. “No, I do not remember any smell of smoke. I remember I was looking for my hat and it was buried in my closet and...”

She suddenly trailed away, and her eyes flared wide in horror. “Oh!”

“What is it?” Jane asked anxiously.

Before the astonished eyes of her family, Lydia’s eyes filled with tears and she cried, “The candle! I had to light the candle to look in my closet for my hat and ... I think I put it down on my dressing table but ... I do not remember ... perhaps I did not blow it out? Oh, could I be responsible for the fire? I could have ... Mamma could have... Oh Father, I am so sorry!”

Elizabeth cast a quick glance at her father, and was relieved to observe that he did not look angry. However, he was looking dazed, and she realized that, once again, she could not depend upon Mr. Bennet to reassure their young sister.

“My dear Lyddy,” she said, rolling to her feet and walking over to take a seat next to the youngest Miss Bennet, “I expect we will never know for certain what happened. Perhaps your candle was responsible. Perhaps one of the servants let an ember roll out of the grate in Father’s room.

As Jane said, we should be thankful that we are all alive, and while yes, part of the house is burned, at least not all of it was destroyed. ”

Lydia was sobbing hysterically by now, and she gasped out, “It was my fault. Oh, all my clothes, all my things, the kitchen, Father’s books! What are we to do? I am so sorry!”

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged worried glances, and Jane rose and walked over to pull her youngest sister into an embrace. “Lydia,” she said tenderly, “it has been a difficult day for all of us. I believe you and Kitty should go to bed and get some rest. I will take you upstairs.”

/

Dining Room

Netherfield

“I wonder what the Bennets will do,” Mr. Bingley said, moodily stirring his white soup. “It is such a catastrophe, though it would have been worse without you, Darcy. Colonel Forster told me how impressed he was with your quick thinking in forming the bucket brigade.”

“Thank you, but I only did what needed to be done,” Darcy responded quietly.

“You ought not have had to do anything at all, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline said irritably as she stabbed a hapless piece of fish on her plate. “It was Mr. Bennet’s responsibility to order the servants to put out the fire, not yours!”

“I suppose he was terribly distressed at the time,” Mrs. Hurst said sympathetically. “I am thankful that Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary were not killed from their fall!”

“Yes, that is a great mercy,” Darcy said. “A building can always be repaired.”

“In any case, you have done more than enough to help the Bennets, Charles,” Miss Bingley declared. “They are not your problem, and they will be too busy to visit in the near future, nor will we be able to visit them since Longbourn is uninhabitable.”

There was definite satisfaction in the lady’s voice at these words, which Darcy found annoying but not surprising.

Caroline Bingley had formed a friendship with the eldest Miss Bennet soon after they had all arrived in Hertfordshire, but in the intervening weeks, her disdain and dislike for the rest of the Bennet family, especially Miss Elizabeth, had only grown.

This was partly his own fault, he knew. Darcy had admitted to admiring Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes during a dinner party at Lucas Lodge, and Miss Bingley had been a spiteful ball of jealousy ever since where Miss Elizabeth was concerned.

He sighed. In spite of the obvious reality that the second Miss Bennet was not worthy of his admiration, his wayward thoughts continued to dwell on the lady’s quick intelligence, arch speech, and lively countenance.

Tonight, he found his thoughts straying toward her every few minutes.

What was she feeling? Was she grieving over the loss of part of her home?

Or was she merely thankful that everyone had survived the fire?

Darcy glanced at Bingley and was not surprised to see that his friend’s forehead remained creased and his eyes clouded.

Bingley was greatly attracted to the blonde, blue-eyed Jane Bennet, and he had no doubt that tomorrow Bingley would call on the ladies to determine how they were, no matter what Miss Bingley said.

He would, he decided, accompany his friend. It was his Christian duty to provide comfort and succor to a family devastated by loss.