Chapter 6 A Test of Fire

The first day the men contrived to call on the Bennets, it rained. Therefore, there could be no standing outside and the roads were too wet to risk a carriage. Miss Bingley fretted about Mr. Darcy catching a cold, and he laughed in spite of himself at the worry. It just so happened his personal doctor was only a short distance away. Still, a note sent from Longbourn to Netherfield Park that afternoon communicated very little had changed.

The next day, Mother Nature again refused to cooperate. The only good news that day claimed Miss Elizabeth’s fever made her sleep more often than not, but she tolerated broth and tea and remained conscious. At her insistence, Mr. Jones was summoned and Dr. Stevens was not at all impressed with his abilities. Darcy read line by line of the missive, over and over again to try to find some clue about her feelings towards him. But alas, Dr. Stevens wrote as a clinician, not an agent of cupid. He discarded the letter to the fire with the paltry four lines memorized.

“There you are, Mr. Darcy. However did you find this room?” Caroline Bingley announced, upon intruding on his solitude.

Disliking artifice of any kind, he did not wish to insult his hostess and claim he had not tried to find a room away from her. At one point, he considered asking a footman to move a desk into his suite of rooms, an idea he now wished he had not abandoned so quickly.

“I found it perfectly positioned in equal distance to the library and stables,” he commented, pulling out parchment to busy himself. He had finished the letters of business, a task he set to complete before learning Miss Elizabeth’s condition in case he was needed. But he was not needed. Nor requested.

Without thinking, he began a letter to his sister, Georgiana. He had promised to tell her of his trip and had not written since the afternoon of the assembly. Dipping his quill into the inkwell, he began his letter by assuring her that he was healthy and well and that it pains him to tell her of the great tragedy he had witnessed.

“I am so grateful to found you alone, sir, because I believe we should discuss the poor, unfortunate Bennets.” Caroline glided directly to the side of his desk, standing closely over his shoulder. Darcy put down his pen and pushed the chair back a considerable distance to reduce the intimacy.

“Would this conversation not be better with your sister, Mrs. Hurst? Or your brother?”

“But that’s precisely who sent me! My sister! My brother will not hear sense! Do you know he has designs to ask for Jane Bennet’s hand in marriage? Can you imagine? He’s only known the woman for a week!”

Mr. Darcy frowned. He did not like Miss Bingley’s rational argument against Mr. Bingley’s attachment most importantly because it echoed arguments against his own. “We’ve been acquainted with Mr. Bennet from the start of our stay, he was one of the first neighbors to call if I recall. And Mr. Bingley met her uncle some months ago in securing the lease,” Mr. Darcy pointed out.

Caroline scoffed. “And what has that to do with Miss Bennet?”

Mr. Darcy chuckled and returned to his letter to his sister, unbelieving that Miss Bingley could be this dense. “Surely marriage has far more to do with the family and connections a lady comes from than fleeting feelings of attraction. Mr. Bennet is a well-respected squire in this country, Mr. Phillips is the trusted attorney in Meryton.”

“Her family is practically penniless. Do you know that when Mr. Bennet dies some distant cousin inherits the entire estate?”

“Ah,” Darcy said, thoughtfully, staring out the window as he thought how horrible such a circumstance would be for Elizabeth to lose her childhood home. “That is the way sometimes, even in families of the Ton. The son inherits.”

“But they have no son!”

Darcy considered her for a moment, feeling another circumstance similar to the carriage ride with Mr. Bingley. Miss Bingley had never seen an earl or viscount die a premature death and a young wife kicked out of her home as the eldest son from the first marriage took over the title and the purse strings.

“If my own father had remarried, and thankfully he did not, the same practically penniless status would have befallen any stepmother of mine. I was unaware your brother needed to marry for wealth, I should have to ask him how his finances became so dour,” Mr. Darcy said, sardonically, and trying to get back to writing his letter to his sister.

“So you will not help me?” she asked, quibbling her lower lip and her eyes glistening with the beginning of crocodile tears about to fall.

“Caroline!” Mr. Bingley scolded his sister as he entered the small sitting room on the first floor that his friend had claimed in sanctuary. “I told you that Darcy did not wish to be disturbed!”

Caroline turned in a huff and left the room, claiming to need something or other from her sister, Louisa. Mr. Darcy turned back to write more lines to his sister, exalting the eldest Bennet daughters’ kindness, social graces, and even mentioning his games of chess with Miss Elizabeth. He did not tell his sister that Elizabeth had bested them, just merely that they had played nearly two games. He was just beginning to mention the situation of her injuries in the most polite fashion possible when Mr. Bingley decided to take the place of his sister in annoying him.

“My man has news from the village,” Mr. Bingley began. When Mr. Darcy did not inquire further but continued to write, Bingley continued on, “Before the fire, there was a plan for the Wiltshire militia to winter in the town. Unfortunately, without the tavern, it appears alternative plans have been made. A number of the merchants are quite angry, demanding to know when the tavern will be rebuilt.”

Mr. Darcy nodded, pausing his lines to his sister. “What are the plans to rebuild?”

Bingley shook his head. “Sherman didn’t know. The family that ran the establishment perished in the fire.”

Darcy closed his eyes, recalling the wails and screams of that night. He had heard tales that the children of inn master had been put to bed before the assembly began. The bucket line had worked nearly until dawn, dousing the flames and then looking for any survivors. Mostly, the men found the lost.

“Tis a tragedy of great magnitude, made worse by the changed plans of the militia,” Darcy said.

Mr. Bingley grunted and picked up the inkpot that Darcy used, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Mr. Darcy raised his eyebrows and his friend hastily returned the ink to the desk, cursing that the lip of the glass pot had stained his fingers. Mr. Darcy laughed at his friend.

“I suppose that’s one way to earn one’s stains,” he commented, teasing Charles about how much he despised letter writing.

“Who wants a bawdy group of soldiers in their town? Caused a bunch of trouble is what my father always said.”

Mr. Darcy penned a closing paragraph to his sister, employing his mind in two places as he wrote his words, and tried to understand Bingley’s opinion. When he could not, he asked him to explain.

“They drank and caroused, preying upon the women,” he explained.

“And your father lost more than one worker I’m sure to a hasty marriage,” Darcy realized, out loud.

Mr. Bingley shrugged.

“The shop owners and tavern appreciated the extra coin the soldiers spent,” Darcy pointed out. He sanded the letter and sealed it, adding it to the pile that would need travel by his personal messenger.

A crack of thunder disturbed the two gentlemen, and another downpour began its angry assault on the land outside. Mr. Bingley sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I suppose that puts a pin to it.”

“A visit is out of the question today,” Mr. Darcy agreed. He also frowned because the weather would also delay his letters, as he did not wish to risk his staff to the elements unless it was absolutely necessary. But if the rain continued tomorrow, he would have no choice as his home in London and estate in Derbyshire needed his instructions.

“Any word?”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “She is tolerating broth and remains conscious.”

“Miss Bennet?”

Mr. Darcy closed his eyes at his friend’s helpless state of blatant preference for the fairer Bennet sister. “None, but why would my physician pen an update about a lady we both hope is very well in health?”

“Of course I do not wish Jane to be ill, I only wondered if Dr. Stevens had anything to say about her. I am happy to hear that he does not.”

As the storm continued to rage outside, Mr. Darcy’s muscles begin to feel tense and out of sorts with his lack of physical activity in the last few days. Not wishing to play yet another game of billiards with Bingley, he offered another suggestion for them to pass the time.

“Fancy a bout of fencing?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Mr. Bingley brightened at the suggestion but pointed his finger at his friend. “I shall most assuredly lose as I do not have your reach. But I supposed I do owe you practice with as much as you have humored me at billiards.”

“So long as we are not playing cards again with the ladies, I am an eager participant.”

Bingley laughed. “No, no, swords it shall be. Meet in the ballroom in a quarter-hour?”

Mr. Darcy agreed, and the two restless gentlemen of Netherfield Park found an engagement for their frayed nerves.