Chapter 5 A Test of Fire

“Gentlemen.”

The strange tone of Mr. Bennet captured the attentions of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. The two would-be suitors ceased their friendly discussions about the Bennet sisters to give their host proper respect.

“I will not mince words, much as my wife would like me to. The circumstances of your acquaintances with my daughters are unorthodox, to say the least. And not unlike times of great war, it is reasonable for young people to believe themselves wholly in love with someone they just met when the fragility of life is suddenly dangled by immediate danger.”

“Sir,” Mr. Bingley began, but Mr. Bennet held up a hand.

“I do not doubt your sincerities or intentions towards either of my eldest daughters, I simply ask that this is not the time.”

Mr. Bingley nodded, but Mr. Darcy could not so easily agree.

“What do you believe to be our intentions?” Mr. Darcy asked, earning a laugh from Mr. Bennet. The man continued to laugh as Mr. Bingley shook from nerves and Mr. Darcy stood stoically still.

“Darcy, you cannot claim you do not hold esteem for Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley outed his friend, without speaking about himself.

“As I have not declared or requested any meeting with Mr. Bennet on the matter, I feel it is within my right to inquire as to what the man expects of me,” Mr. Darcy stated, not bringing up his or Elizabeth’s feelings on the matter.

Mr. Bennet walked further into the parlor, away from the door.

“I’m afraid it’s rather plain that your both have traveled to a foreign county and found yourselves captivated by a stock of young lady they don’t breed in London drawing rooms. But if either of you press your suit now, you will forever wonder if your acceptance was on your merits or merely the romantic fantasies of young ladies who identify with a novel’s heroine.”

“Do you think so little of your daughters’ ability to comprehend and have good sense?” Darcy asked.

The elder man grimaced. 

“To you, sir, I could deny nothing that you ask of me. You have restored my greatest treasure, and even now, I am a poor man trading on your generosity. But no, it is not Lizzy’s good sense and comprehension that I am worried about.” Mr. Bennet bowed his head to Mr. Darcy, but then looked him directly in the eye to underscore the severity of the matter at hand.

“You doubt Miss Bennet then?” Mr. Bingley spouted, dumbly, and Mr. Darcy scolded his friend, still locked in a staring contest with Mr. Bennet.

“No, Charles, he doubts us.”

Mr. Bennet did not contradict Mr. Darcy’s assessment and instead held his hands open and empty at his sides as though to weigh two arguments. The pantomime made Mr. Bingley calm down, as he was always quick to find a congenial resolution. Mr. Darcy clasped his hands behind his back, the same hands that carried the woman he knew very little not once, but twice.

“What would you have us do, then?” Mr. Bingley pleaded, and Mr. Darcy closed his eyes in annoyance. 

This was not a negotiation Mr. Darcy wished to have when he was still unsure of his own thoughts on the matter. Mr. Bennet’s sage advice, from such an unlikely source, challenged his own behavior. Did he hold intentions towards Miss Elizabeth? He knew what his irrational emotions felt when he spied her running back into that building. He didn’t question that he had acted any greater than another gentleman might act. 

But then to see her fighting spirit, and quick mind, had allowed himself to believe his first opinion had been in haste. He had answered Charles at the assembly with a selfish unwillingness to concern himself with the needs of others in a moment of his own discomfort. Yet, Miss Elizabeth had played chess with him, when she was likely in a great deal of pain, for his comfort in an awkward social situation.

Darcy suddenly realized he had been asked a question when Mr. Bingley called his name. 

“I apologize, I was not attending,” he said, asking for them to repeat what was decided.

“Mr. Bennet wishes for us to see the ladies at services and then call later that week,” Mr. Bingley said.

“But Miss Elizabeth . . .” Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and stopped himself as what he was about to say was so wholly inappropriate for a man unconnected to the lady. He tried to think of better words to express his worry, and then realized such a worry mattered not if it came to fruition. If Miss Elizabeth did not recover from her burns and affliction, then she would be lost to him forever and no decision need be made.

Mr. Bennet narrowed his eyes at the wealthy man from Derbyshire. “I am certain your man, Stevens, will keep you apprised of my daughter’s condition. And I did not say you may not call,” he said, to Mr. Bingley. “I just only ask that you do so with the same circumspection and restraint that you might have employed if there had not been a fire. And also, to please consider that my wife is mourning her sister.”

Mr. Darcy nodded in agreement, with only one other concern in his mind. “Will you speak to Mrs. Bennet or your daughters about our discussion here tonight?”

Mr. Bennet made a horrified expression of disgust as the sound of heavy footsteps came down the stairs, signaling they were soon to be joined by others. Dr. Stevens rejoined the men and closed the parlor door behind him.

“She sleeps. And Miss Bennet sits with her,” Dr. Stevens explained.

Mr. Darcy wanted to ask more questions, but a swift glance by Mr. Bennet held his tongue.

“Is there any way to know?” Mr. Bennet asked. Dr. Stevens shook his head.

“No, the night will be telling. We will know more in the morning,” Dr. Stevens said. 

Mr. Bennet used the finality of Dr. Steven’s prognosis to bid Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy a good afternoon, not saying a word that echoed their previous discussion. Mr. Darcy checked once more with Dr. Stevens if he was comfortable staying at Longbourn and his old friend and personal physician laughed.

“You forget that I’m a doctor even when you don’t need my services.”

“Yes, yes, but I am also newly acquainted with the Bennets,” was all Mr. Darcy would say.

Dr. Stevens clapped Mr. Darcy on the shoulder as they walked out to the carriage ready to take them to Netherfield Park. Mr. Bingley’s horse was tied to the post position to be led back home as well. “If they attempt to harm me, I will be sure to send word,” he said, jokingly as the two forlorn suitors had to retrench.

They were a quarter of a mile down the road before Bingley began to needle his friend again.

“So we can call tomorrow?” he asked.

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling inordinately exhausted by the day’s events. 

“What happened while I was away to London?” he asked.

Bingley recounted how he had first visited with Caroline, and they stayed for the afternoon playing cards in the parlor with Miss Bennet and Miss Lydia. Then Miss Bennet had to tend to her sister. Instead of leaving, Mrs. Bennet asked them to dine, and Miss Bingley said she had to leave for a previous engagement with her sister.

“But I was not aware of any engagement, so I returned Caroline home and then I came back for dinner.”

Mr. Darcy groaned.

“You did not notice that Mr. Bennet had not invited you to dine?”

Mr. Bingley shook his head. “Hardly saw the man, he was upstairs most of the time or went to his study.”

“And then today?”

“Oh, Caroline complained of a headache, so I called alone. About an hour before you arrived.”

Mr. Darcy started to place the puzzle pieces in place and felt an enormous amount of sympathy for Mr. Bennet, though truthfully the man was partially to blame for the problem. If he was playing chess with Elizabeth most of the day, and the household didn’t announce Mr. Bingley’s arrival due to the man’s eccentricities, or Mrs. Bennet’s scheming, it was little wonder the man asked for space. 

“If we call tomorrow, it will be for a brief moment to inquire as to Miss Elizabeth’s health and we will remain outside.”

“Outside?”

“Yes, outside. Though I am certain we can contrive some errand to run in Meryton.”

Mr. Bingley brightened. “Yes, I can talk to Mr. Phillips about extending the lease.”

“The man who just lost his wife?”

“Oh.” Mr. Bingley suddenly appeared crestfallen. “I don’t understand, are they going into mourning?”

“What do you not understand?” Mr. Darcy asked his friend.

Mr. Bingley stared out the window. “When my mother died, my father continued to work. There were orders, the factories. And when he died . . .”

“You sold the factories.”

Mr. Bingley watched the passing trees along the road, starting to grow familiar with the way between to two estates, his leased one and Longbourn. “Up North, there isn’t time to mourn. There’s no time to live, either.”

Mr. Darcy nodded, finally grasping where his friend’s faux pas derived from: he was raised in trade. 

If Darcy had been honest, he was also not sure of the practices and customs in the area, as mourning in the countryside was similar to that in a factory town. Some work simply can’t hold off. The only place he’d seen structured mourning was in London, and not among anyone who worked for a living. Or didn’t need to hastily marry to shore up debts left by the deceased.

“You’re entirely correct, Charles. There is little to understand in any of this. But time rarely weakens a decision. We will honor Mr. Bennet’s request,” Darcy said, as the carriage came to a stop.

“That’s easy for you to say, your lady won’t be working side-by-side with Dr. Stevens,” Mr. Bingley pouted.

Mr. Darcy chuckled for the sake of his friend, but still could not laugh fully. His heart was in too much agony, praying for hope that Elizabeth lived. That became his silent prayer to the Almighty as they trudged up the steps to the front doors. Even if Elizabeth did not return his affection, or his affection became false and a traitor to his integrity, that it be God’s will for the lady to live.