Page 5 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)
Chapter Five
Elizabeth ascended Netherfield’s grand staircase, her thoughts swirling with incredulity. The Matlocks! The illustrious Earl and Countess, intimate acquaintances of her parents? It seemed too absurd to be true, like some fanciful tale penned by an overly ambitious novelist.
Pausing at the landing, Elizabeth pressed her hand lightly to the polished banister, her lips twitching with an incredulous smile. What other secrets did her parents harbour? Perhaps next she would learn her father had once dined with the Prince Regent or her mother was the long-lost heiress to a dukedom. She shook her head and continued toward Jane’s room, her soft slippers barely making a sound against the carpeted floor.
“Jane?” Elizabeth called softly as she pushed open the door.
Mrs Whiting glanced up from her seat near the fire and her ever-present knitting with a smile. “She’s been awake these last few minutes. Seeming a little more like herself; I think the fever is easing. I’ll leave you be.” Setting down her knitting, she slipped out of the room, leaving the sisters alone.
Jane lay in the bed still, but the red flags of fever in her pale cheeks had indeed abated somewhat, and her blue eyes were clear. “Lizzy,” she said weakly, a tremulous smile coming to her lips. “I am sorry to be so much trouble…”
“You are no trouble at all,” Elizabeth said firmly, closing the door and going to sit beside Jane. “But I have to tell you what I have just discovered! Lord Matlock and our father were at Cambridge together! Lady Matlock herself all but declared our parents old friends. Did you know?”
Jane looked as astonished as Elizabeth felt. “No,” she replied softly, shaking her head. “I had no idea.”
“Well, I certainly did not either,” Elizabeth said, crossing her arms. “It is most vexing to feel so thoroughly uninformed about one’s own family. Next they shall reveal we are distantly related to the Caesars of Rome.”
Jane’s laugh was gentle. “Oh, Lizzy, you must not let it trouble you. I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Reasonable?” Elizabeth echoed, her brow arching. “Jane, the Matlocks! You cannot call that reasonable. Our dear mother, who has never met an eminent personage without extolling their virtues to anyone within earshot, has somehow neglected to mention a decades-long acquaintance with an earl and a countess? I find that entirely unreasonable.”
“Do not upset yourself over it,” Jane said. “Mama and Papa are full of surprises, it is true, but surely this revelation does not signify anything untoward.”
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth conceded, though her expression remained sceptical. “But I confess, I feel as though the ground beneath me has shifted ever so slightly. What else might I not know? Or worse, what else might Mama spring upon us next?”
Jane smiled, but then coughed, and Elizabeth was taken up with attending to her and persuading her to drink one of the apothecary’s draughts. Settling on the bed beside her sister as Jane quieted, Elizabeth’s thoughts returned to the most unexpected scene which had just occurred downstairs.
“You should have seen Miss Bingley’s face,” she said, a laugh bubbling up at the memory of Caroline’s silent outrage. “If there were ever a study in thwarted ambition, it was surely painted across her countenance today. I daresay Lady Matlock’s attentions to Mama were more than poor Caroline could endure.”
“Lizzy, you must not take such pleasure in another’s discomfort,” Jane chided, though the corners of her lips twitched upward, betraying her own suppressed smile. “It is unkind.”
“Unkind? Perhaps.” Elizabeth leaned back, propping herself on her hands. “But entirely irresistible. Miss Bingley’s attitude certainly contrasts greatly with that of Lady Matlock – it is not even her house, and yet look how assiduous she has been in her attentions to you.”
“Lady Matlock has been remarkably kind,” Jane said. “She does not seem to view us as... inconvenient, as some might.”
“Kindness, indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, though her smile turned wry. “And how magnanimous of her to bestow it upon such lowly creatures as ourselves. Truly, we are blessed beyond measure.”
“Now, Lizzy,” Jane protested softly. “You mustn’t be so cynical. Lady Matlock’s interest seems genuine, did it not? And as for Miss Bingley…” Here, Jane hesitated, ever eager to find the good in everyone. “Perhaps she feels... a little displaced in her own home. It cannot be easy, entertaining guests and managing so many personalities. I am sure, once you come to know her better, you will find much to admire in her.”
“Admire?” Elizabeth repeated, arching a brow with such incredulity that even Jane could not suppress a laugh.
“Yes, admire,” Jane insisted, though her voice held less conviction now. “She is accomplished, is she not? And very devoted to her brother.”
“Accomplished at what, precisely? Casting derisive glances? Speaking in veiled barbs? Or perhaps orchestrating the perfect arrangement of cushions to display her superiority?” Elizabeth quipped, earning another laugh from her sister.
“Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed, though her tone was more amused than admonishing. “I truly believe you shall like her, given time.”
“Ah, dearest Jane,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head fondly. “Your ability to see virtue in the most unlikely places is nothing short of miraculous. But I fear my powers of perception are not so divinely inspired.”
Jane smiled, though her eyelids fluttered with weariness, a subtle but telling sign. Elizabeth noticed immediately and rose to her feet.
“Enough of this,” she declared lightly. “You are tired, and I am an incorrigible source of distraction. Rest now, dear sister, before I provoke you into defending Caroline Bingley further. I should not wish to endanger your health with so demanding an exercise.”
“Very well,” Jane conceded with a small laugh. “But only if you promise not to torment poor Miss Bingley too much in my absence.”
“On my honour,” Elizabeth replied, though the mischievous glint in her eye suggested otherwise.
As she made her way down to dinner later that afternoon, Elizabeth found herself smiling despite her earlier frustrations. Whatever challenges lay ahead, be they in the form of Caroline Bingley’s spite or Lady Matlock’s unexpected patronage, she had no doubt that life would continue to provide ample fodder for her wit. And truly, what more could one ask for?
Elizabeth had scarcely reached the drawing room when a footman entered with a silver tray, upon which lay a folded note bearing the Matlock seal. All eyes turned expectantly toward Caroline Bingley as she retrieved it, her movements as deliberate and precise as though she were performing for an audience of far more than five people. She broke the wax seal with what Elizabeth could only describe as unnecessary ceremony before scanning its contents.
“Well,” Caroline began, her lips curving into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, “it appears Lord and Lady Matlock have been invited to dine at Longbourn this evening.” Her tone was light, but there was a tell-tale sharpness beneath it, like the glint of a blade half-concealed.
“How delightful!” cried Mr Bingley from his seat by the fire, where he had been poking absently at the logs. “I daresay they shall enjoy Mrs Bennet’s company immensely. Such a lively hostess!”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a laugh. The image of Lady Matlock enduring her mother’s effusions on eligible gentlemen and lace trimmings was almost too rich. But Caroline’s expression froze mid-smile, betraying a flicker of uncertainty—was this truly a slight, or merely an unfortunate coincidence?
“One can only hope,” Caroline replied smoothly, recovering her composure, though her gaze darted briefly towards Elizabeth. “It is a pity they could not join us again, but I suppose some are more accustomed to simpler entertainments.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said, meeting Caroline’s glance with an arch of her brow. “But then, simplicity has its charms. Perhaps it is a relief for them after the rigours of London society.”
A faint twitch in Caroline’s jaw betrayed her irritation, though she quickly masked it behind a sugary smile. “Oh, to be sure, Miss Eliza. Though I would have thought such exalted company might prefer somewhat more… refined conversation.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth mused aloud, tilting her head as if considering the matter, “but I find that true refinement lies in sincerity, rather than affectation. Would you not agree?”
“Caroline, do you not think it rather warm in here?” Mr Bingley interjected cheerfully, perhaps sensing the need to redirect the conversation. “Perhaps we should open a window?”
“If it is warm, it is only because you have stirred the fire up too much, Charles,” Caroline replied, her voice clipped, though she nodded in agreement. As she waved her hand to call over the footman to see to the matter, Elizabeth allowed herself a moment of amusement.
Dinner proceeded without further incident, though Caroline’s occasional barbs continued to pepper the conversation like poorly aimed arrows, easily deflected by Elizabeth’s wit. By the time the party retired to the parlour Miss Bingley preferred in the evenings, Elizabeth found herself longing for the quiet sanctuary of Jane’s presence. She declined to play cards and settled herself with a book.
Elizabeth turned the thin, crackling page of her book with deliberate slowness, more to occupy herself than from any true engagement with the text. In truth, the parlour had never felt so restive, a peculiar tension humming beneath its genteel surface. The scratch of Mr Darcy’s pen against paper as he wrote a letter to his sister provided the only real rhythm, though it was punctuated irregularly and maddeningly by Caroline Bingley’s persistent interruptions.
“Pray, Mr Darcy,” Caroline drawled, “do tell Georgiana how I long to see her again. She is such a delight, truly! So accomplished for her age. Why, she plays the pianoforte better than anyone I have ever heard.”
The pen paused mid-scratch. Mr Darcy’s brow furrowed slightly, though he did not look up. “I shall certainly convey your sentiments, Miss Bingley,” he said, his tone as measured and even as the man himself. He resumed his writing without further comment.
“Indeed, such accomplishments are rare these days,” Caroline continued, undeterred, her voice pitched louder, as if to ensure no one, least of all Mr Darcy, could ignore her. “It is so refreshing to see a young lady dedicated to the arts. And how fortunate she is to have a brother so attentive to her education and refinement. I daresay,” she glanced meaningfully at Mr Bingley, who looked up from his cards with an air of mild confusion, “such care might inspire others to follow suit. Do you not agree, Charles?”
“Agree with what?” asked Mr Bingley cheerfully, clearly having lost the thread of the conversation altogether.
“That younger sisters deserve every opportunity to be properly guided,” Caroline replied smoothly, though there was a flicker of irritation in her expression. Her gaze slid back toward Mr Darcy. “Georgiana will make a very fine wife for some lucky gentleman one day. Such talents! Such… suitability .”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, though she kept her eyes fixed on her book. Suitability indeed. Was Caroline angling for Georgiana to marry Mr Bingley? Or perhaps she aimed merely to flatter Mr Darcy by extolling his sister’s virtues. Either way, the performance was as transparent as glass.
“Miss Eliza,” Caroline’s voice broke into her musings, sharp and cutting, “you have been remarkably quiet this evening. What is it you are reading that holds your interest so thoroughly?”
Elizabeth raised her eyes slowly. “A novel, Miss Bingley,” she replied evenly. “One must find entertainment where one can.”
“Ah, a novel ,“ Caroline said, her tone dripping with disdain. “How diverting. Though I suppose,” her eyes flitted over Elizabeth’s book dismissively, “one ought to be cautious about indulging too much in such frivolities. They do little to cultivate a truly accomplished mind, after all.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, unfazed, returning her gaze to the page. She would not rise to it. Not tonight.
“On the contrary,” came Mr Darcy’s voice, quiet but firm, halting both Elizabeth’s reading and Caroline’s preening. He set down his pen and looked up for the first time, his dark eyes sharp and steady. “No woman can be considered truly accomplished unless she improves her mind through extensive reading. It is,” he added, with a faint tilt of his head, “a mark of discernment.”
Caroline blinked, visibly startled. For once, she seemed at a loss for words.
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched despite her best efforts. She angled her book slightly higher, as if the act might shield her from the rising tide of laughter bubbling within her chest. It was a hopeless endeavour. Mr Darcy’s perfectly timed remark, so devastatingly pointed and delivered with such calm authority had left Caroline Bingley flustered beyond recovery. A rare and glorious sight.
“Extensive reading, indeed,” Caroline finally muttered, her lips pursing into a line so tight it could have drawn blood. Her fan snapped open with an audible crack, and she fluttered it before her face with exaggerated vigour, as though attempting to cool the indignation simmering beneath her composed exterior.
Elizabeth’s eyes slid sideways against her will, peeking over the edge of her novel. To her immense discomposure, Mr Darcy was already looking at her. His expression was one of studied neutrality, yet there was a tell-tale glint in his eyes—a flicker of mischief, or perhaps amusement, that softened the hard edges of his countenance.
Caught, Elizabeth felt her breath hitch. There it was again, that startlingly human quality she so seldom associated with him. The aloof and unyielding Mr Darcy, betraying a trace of mirth? She nearly dropped her book.
His gaze lingered for a fraction longer than propriety dictated, and though he did not so much as twitch a muscle, Elizabeth had the distinct impression that he, too, was fighting to keep his composure intact.
The absurdity of it all, the shared understanding, the silent conspiracy between them, was too much. Elizabeth pressed her lips together tightly, willing herself not to burst into unladylike laughter. But oh, how tempting it was! She could practically hear the scandalised gasp Caroline would emit if she did.
“Miss Eliza, are you quite well?” Caroline’s voice cut through the charged silence. She had clearly regained enough of her wits to aim a barb in Elizabeth’s direction. “You seem… distracted.”
“Not at all, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, her voice a model of serenity, though her white-knuckled grip on her book betrayed her struggle. “I was merely reflecting on Mr Darcy’s excellent point.”
Darcy’s head dipped ever so slightly, the tiniest nod of acknowledgment—or was it gratitude?—before he returned his attention to his letter.
“How fortunate for us all that Mr Darcy is here to enlighten us on such matters,” Caroline retorted with a brittle smile, her words laced with a venom she likely thought subtle.
Elizabeth dared not look up again. She could feel the heat of suppressed hilarity prickling behind her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. With as much dignity as she could muster, she rose abruptly to her feet.
“Do excuse me,” she murmured, clutching her book like a lifeline. Without waiting for a response, she made a hasty retreat toward the door, her steps brisk but measured. Only when she was safely out of earshot did she allow herself to exhale, her shoulders shaking with laughter as she climbed the stairs.
By the time she reached Jane’s room, she managed to compose herself, mostly. Jane lay propped against a pile of pillows, her face serene even in weariness. Mrs Whiting sat close by, knitting quietly, her presence a soothing constant.
“Ah, Lizzy,” Jane greeted softly, her happy smile lighting the room. “Have you come to rescue me from my devoted caretaker? I fear she dotes on me excessively.”
“Impossible,” Elizabeth replied, sinking into the chair beside her sister. “Mrs Whiting’s doting is among the few indulgences in this household I would never begrudge you. Though I confess,” she leaned conspiratorially toward Jane, “the temptation to escape the parlour was overwhelming.”
“Was it very dreadful?” Jane asked, her voice tinged with sympathy.
“Not entirely,” Elizabeth admitted with a wry smile. “Mr Bingley remains as charmingly buoyant as ever. It is a wonder his spirits do not carry him straight through the ceiling. Unfortunately, his sister’s wit does not possess the same elevating quality, and since the Matlocks apparently decided to stay at Longbourn to dine, Miss Bingley’s nose is decidedly out of joint.”
“Poor Caroline,” Jane murmured, ever inclined to charity. “She must feel so displaced.”
“Poor Caroline, indeed,” Elizabeth echoed dryly. “Her plight is pitiable, Jane. Imagine being outshone in one’s own home, not by sisters, but by mere acquaintances. And worse still by such insufferably simple creatures as ourselves.”
“Lizzy,” Jane chided gently, though her expression betrayed a hint of amusement.
“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said, raising her hands in mock penitence. “I shall endeavour to conduct myself with greater humility. Tomorrow.”
Elizabeth settled into a chair near the fire, allowing the warmth to seep into her bones. For a moment, she stared at the flames, their flickering dance mirroring the chaos of her thoughts.
“Jane,” she began, her voice contemplative, “have you ever found yourself utterly mistaken about someone? So certain of your opinion, only to discover there is… more to them than you first believed?”
“Of course,” Jane replied, ever ready to empathise. “People can surprise us in the most unexpected ways.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured, her mind drifting back to the look of amusement in Mr Darcy’s eyes, the almost imperceptible tilt of his lips. “They most certainly can.”
For the first time, she wondered if she had been too hasty in her judgement of him. Perhaps Mr Darcy was not so humourless after all. And perhaps, though she would never admit it aloud, it was not such a terrible thing to find herself the recipient of that rare and elusive glimmer of his good humour.