My morning was disrupted by a disturbing image—Miss Elizabeth was walking towards the house, quite alone, and it seemed that she had been walking in this manner for quite a while. A moment passed as I stared out the window, all but pressing my nose to it until I leaped up and tore through the house in a decisively ungentle fashion. It was imperative that I reach the breakfast-parlor before Miss Elizabeth reached the house in the state that she was in. The object of her coming undoubtedly was her sister who, apparently, we had kidnapped and gotten sick—I confess to not being entirely familiar with the details—but the mode of her coming posed a number of questions. My first thought was that her parents had not given her leave to come, therefore she had effectively run away from home; my last thought before I entered the breakfast-parlor was that we had in fact killed Miss Bennet and now her sister had come to rain her fury and vengeance on us like some wrathful Hertfordshire spirit.
"Miss Bingley, pray excuse me, but I have an urgent need of you," I said with as much calm as I could muster.
"Is it Miss Bennet?" Bingley—the wrong one—immediately jumped up. I shook my head emphatically.
"Miss Bingley, if you would please follow me." I turned around and exited the room.
"How intriguing! Take care to run back and tell us everything as soon as you are able," I heard Mrs. Hurst say. Sure enough, Miss Bingley followed me directly and when I had come to a stop a safe distance away, I turned around and took her into my confidence.
"Miss Elizabeth is outside, and I do believe she is about to come in. Do not be disturbed—she looks quite wild."
"Was there an accident? Has some harm befallen her?"
"I do not believe so, but it is better that she meets you alone, for you will be able to take care of her without the stares of others. I trust you are the best person to handle this."
She nodded her acceptance, and I departed, hearing an additional pair of footsteps that must belong to the charming runaway. I went back to the breakfast-parlor, not wishing to return to my room and accidentally meet the two ladies. I would wait until Miss Bingley returned and hear her account.
"What was that about, Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Hurst asked as I returned. One look at Bingley's face made me think about disclosing the information at once before he exploded in his chair, but I resolved to keep quiet. Mr. Hurst was the only one who cared nothing about it, his breakfast being the more pressing matter at hand.
"Really, Darcy, it was all very dramatic for you not to tell us," Bingley said.
"I apologize for disturbing you."
"Shall you have some tea, Mr. Darcy?"
"No, I thank you."
Mrs. Hurst started a one-sided conversation about something or other as I watched the door and Bingley followed my example until Miss Bingley re-entered looking rather satisfied with herself.
"Now, Caroline, you must tell us, for Mr. Darcy will not."
"It was Miss Elizabeth come to inquire after her sister. I took her upstairs."
"Well, why didn't you bring her here first?"
"She came to see her sister, Bingley, not exchange pleasantries with you," I said.
"She was truly anxious about her sister," added Miss Bingley with a softness of manner I seemed unable to convey. "I dare say more than Louisa would have been for me."
"It is a cold, Caroline. What is there to be anxious about?"
"Has the doctor seen her?" Bingley asked.
"Any moment now. I will hear his report and inform you immediately." I took this opportunity to escape and went back to my room, fighting the urge to walk by Miss Bennet's room and hear sisterly whispers coming from it. Mr. Lamb found me with a pen in hand, though I had written nothing since the unexpected arrival of Miss Elizabeth; I was too distracted by her coming and by how good and generous I could be—I did save her the embarrassment of appearing like a fright before all of the house. Unfortunately, the prognosis was not good.
"Mr. Lamb says she is very ill," I informed the breakfast-parlor. Miss Bingley looked worried; her brother looked aghast. "She is likely to recover in his care, however, and he recommends not moving her."
"Of course we are not moving her!" cried Bingley. "Oh, this is all my fault."
"Charles, how can it be your fault? You were not even here."
He had no answer to this, but his face still conveyed the unequivocal belief in him being complicit. I feared no amount of logic would help in this situation.
"Now that the matter is resolved, I suppose we should be going, if we are to keep our engagements," I said.
"Naturally, I am not going. Miss Bennet is gravely ill."
"Miss Bennet has a cold. A bad cold, but a cold nonetheless, and the doctor is not worried," insisted Mrs. Hurst, who thought all of this to be exaggerated excitement.
"Even so, seems like ill manners to leave."
Miss Bingley regarded me with pleading eyes. If Bingley was to stay, he would be a nervous nightmare and a true annoyance, unable to be helpful and unable to keep still. We were in agreement there.
"Bingley, come now. What do you suppose you can do in the matter? Miss Bennet needs rest and care, which will be provided for her here by your sisters, Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Lamb. Do you wish to be in their way and an additional burden to take care of; not to mention disappoint your friends and neighbors?"
It did not take it long to convince him and we left the house to the ladies. Bingley bore his anxiety much better in public—even if he was a wreck on the inside, on the outside he was his cheerful self. The notion that Miss Bennet would still be at his house probably helped, while I was warmed by the idea that Miss Elizabeth had come but was unlikely to stay.
***
"Miss Elizabeth is staying," Miss Bingley informed us upon our return. Bingley thought it a grand idea and wondered why he himself did not think to offer it; however, I was seized by terror. I was not at all prepared for Miss Elizabeth to stay.
"Miss Elizabeth is staying?" I repeated as if I might have misheard.
"Her sister is very unwell—worse than in the morning. When it was time for Miss Elizabeth to go, Miss Bennet got very distraught about the idea, and I thought it best to invite her to stay," Miss Bingley explained apologetically for my ears only.
"You did well," I acknowledged and, thus, was rewarded with her satisfied smile.
A strange mixture of dread and excitement took hold of me—dread because she was likely to be upset and I hated to think of her as unhappy; excitement because I liked the lady and selfishly was pleased that I had an excellent excuse to see more of her. My excitement soon won, which was an issue in itself—I hardly wished to seem too pleased, considering the circumstances.
Miss Elizabeth joined us for dinner, thankfully looking more put-together than in the morning, though scarcely more energetic. She was likely worn out by the day and saddened by her sister's predicament, which gave her eyes a melancholic look of such magnitude and beauty that for several moments I could only stare and wish most inexcusable things.
"Pray tell us, Miss Elizabeth, that your sister is feeling better." Bingley lost no time to prance on the subject that most interested him.
"I am sorry to say I cannot."
"But is she comfortable? Perhaps there is something we can bring her so that she will feel more comfortable?" inquired Miss Bingley.
"Please don't feel too shy to ask. We really are at your service," added Mrs. Hurst.
"My sister is as comfortable as she can possibly be. I thank you for your generosity."
"Are your parents very angry with us?" asked Bingley.
"I do not think so."
"I beg you not to try to spare my feelings—you can be honest. If I have angered them, please know I will do everything in my power to make amends."
"I do not believe my parents to be angry, according to my best judgment. And I have not gotten any communication from them on the subject to suggest otherwise."
"I shall write to them and apologize. Or would it be better to go in person?"
"Charles has convinced himself that your sister's illness is his fault. Pray, Miss Elizabeth, help me convince him that it is not," said Miss Bingley. I felt curiously jealous—I had not uttered a word so far and I did not believe myself capable of choking out anything valuable on the subject, while Miss Bingley had no trouble conversing easily.
"Mr. Bingley, do not blame yourself. It would give my sister such heartache to know that she was causing misery to others."
"No, indeed, that is not my intention."
"See, Charles, we must not upset Miss Bennet."
"Not more than she is already. I always get so cross when I am ill, but Miss Bennet is an angel and bears it without complaint," said Mrs. Hurst.
"It is vexing to be ill. You miss so much of the world around you," observed Miss Bingley. "You are so lucky, Mr. Darcy, that you do not have to suffer colds—it has no power over you."
I inclined my head by way of response. There was no polite way to explain the finer points of my condition over dinner, nor did I wish to. Colds had no power over me, but I had other ills to contend with which Miss Bingley was lucky in my estimate not to experience.
"But I am shocked how the cold took over poor Miss Bennet," continued Mrs. Hurst.
"Not as shocked as I am, sister. It is very grievous indeed."
"It is terrible what a little rain can do to a person. You know once I got so drenched in the rain that..." Mrs. Hurst began a tale of her own adventures and Miss Bennet's predicament did not enter the conversation again during dinner, and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were their cheerful selves without a trace of a bleak thought. The same could not be said of Miss Elizabeth, who felt the hurt deeply. Bingley paid her much attention and attempted to cheer her up with conversation and I was thankful for his manners, though I suspected he did so also for his benefit—he was not permitted to do much for one sister, so he tried his best to aid the other. I could only hope he was successful because I had nothing to offer.
***
After dinner, Miss Elizabeth resumed her duties, and the conversation by a vile necessity turned to her.
"Poor Miss Elizabeth, how pitiful she looked, how wretched. She really had no place at the dinner table—she added nothing as an ornament, nor had she any conversation," observed Miss Bingley.
"I dare say her clothes looked like rags next to you. A horrid offence, really, considering she has no natural beauty."
"No style, no taste, no beauty—an unforgivable combination. Not to mention the way she looked this morning: a petticoat six inches deep in mud, hair in disarray, face red. How very unconscionable to come in such a state at all."
"Absolutely horrid!" exclaimed Mrs. Hurst.
"It is an unmistakable sign of poor manners. An impertinence, really, to thrust herself on others in such a way. If I had ever a good opinion of her, it has been utterly ruined by her unforgivable behavior."
"I find nothing unforgivable," said Bingley. "I only see concern for her sister which can only enhance my opinion of her."
"Her sister was perfectly fine here without her assistance and her coming was utterly unnecessary. To walk for miles—alone—in dirty weather, arrive at a neighbor's doorstep unfit to be seen, and claim sisterly affection as her only cause? It can only be folly that drove her so," said Miss Bingley. "I would not wish my sister to make such an exhibition, and Mr. Darcy, I dare say, would not think it appropriate to see his sister do the same."
"Certainly not."
It was a harsh picture she painted because something dreadfully similar had happened before, and I was assaulted by memories of Georgiana walking across the fields—barefoot, muddy, confused. I had seen Miss Elizabeth walking and though I could not assess the faults in her appearance close-up, there were many distinctions that I could draw between the two images that made me admire one and fear the other. Miss Elizabeth walked with purpose, in control of all her faculties, the exercises giving her a wild fairytale kind of beauty; Georgiana walked around lost, stumbling, her eyes hollow, devoid of coherent thought.
I could not fault Miss Bingley in evoking these painful memories for she knew nothing of their existence, but I could readily fault her with abuse of Miss Elizabeth. She did it with too much purpose for me to think it was an idle conversation. Did she try to sway her brother against their guest, or were her tactics aimed at me? When I asked her to take care of the situation in the morning, I thought Miss Bingley was the perfect candidate, but now I wished I did it myself against my better judgement. Nobody would hear me degrade Miss Elizabeth in such a manner.
"And what is more—these actions show an unhealthy independence, a surprising roughness and such abominable indifference to appearances," said Miss Bingley.
"Perhaps being an excellent walker is an accomplishment in these country-towns, but fashionable society demands more," added Mrs. Hurst.
"Since I place no such demands on country ladies, I say she has risen in my favor, even if she has fallen out of yours. And seeing as she is such an excellent walker, I might take advantage of that and have her as a companion for my long walks, since you see no value in her coming here. What say you, Darcy, shall we take Miss Elizabeth on a prolonged walk which town ladies could faint attempt?"
"Please remember that Miss Elizabeth is not here for your amusement, Bingley. She is here for her sister and stealing away her time from Miss Bennet will hardly bring her any pleasure—if indeed you aim to reward her for her sisterly devotion." My voice was cold, almost chastising as I said it. Not that I did not want to praise Bingley for standing up to his sisters in defense of that most beguiling creature, but if there was a chance of a long walk with Miss Elizabeth, I would rather Bingley not be there to drain all of her attention from me. A walk—quiet, long, peaceful, with almost no other people to spoil it—was an excellent idea that I aimed to see fulfilled.
"Miss Bennet is really a very sweet girl." Miss Bingley saw an opening to change the subject to restore her authority. "I have an excessive regard for her."
"I do too, I am sure," added Mrs. Hurst.
"I wish with all my heart she was well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it." Miss Bingley's voice was full of pity and her eyes held none of it.
"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton?" Mrs. Hurst asked, filled with feigned innocence.
"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside." The sisters laughed at this information, and Bingley finally took the bait.
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," he announced, "it would not make them any less agreeable."
That was not at all the reaction everybody was counting on, and it only furthered our worries. It was clearly intended to put Bingley's thoughts off Bennets—he was free to be their friend, but he should think nothing of a closer attachment. His reaction was dangerous and in need of correcting, so I opened my mouth to be the voice of reason.
"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," I said, and Bingley made no answer. We saved our cries of victory and moved on with our evening.
Miss Bingley found a moment to lean in and whisper in confidence. "I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that your admiration for a certain pair of fine eyes has been rather diminished."
"Please allow me to express my deepest apologies for worrying you," I said and watched her expression fill with delight, "but your fears are unfounded—my regard remains unchanged."
At this, she shrunk a little and my icy stare drove her to tend to the conversation with her sister. We were in agreement that Bingley had to be saved against his immediate wishes, but no such contract could be applied to me. I was in no danger from Miss Elizabeth, and I had no rash designs upon her, but if I did, Miss Bingley could scarcely hope to sway me from them. It was a truth she needed reminding of once in a while.