Into Hertfordshire (3 page)

“Yes, but Darcy…” Bingley started persuasively.

“Desist, Sir!” Darcy drew himself up in his chair until Bingley’s eyes were level with his chin and favoured him with his fiercest scowl. Since he topped Bingley by a good six inches and was commensurately broad across the shoulders, he made a fine, imposing figure of a man.

“All right! Quarter—I cry quarter!” said Bingley half laughing, half serious. “Calm yourself. Here, have some wine, eat something; your dinner is getting cold. Upon my word, I never met any one who could work himself up the way you do, Darcy. Good Lord, I hardly know but what I should have fared better at home with Caroline.”

Darcy’s ire deflated instantly in the face of his friend’s tolerant good humour. He stared at his plate for a moment and said, “I beg your pardon, Charles, most sincerely. My deuced temper…inexcusable. Pax, old man?”

“Pax,” agreed Bingley easily.

“I fear my zeal for winning my point sometimes amounts to a mania; it must expose my friends to a degree of insolence it quite shames me to realise. I cannot think where I acquired such a dreadful habit. If ever I repeat this performance I give you leave to call me on the carpet directly. Agreed?”

“Do not give it a thought,” Bingley pardoned him with the goodness and charity that was a primary source of Darcy’s regard for him. “For the most part the points you make are good ones; you talk better sense than any one else in my acquaintance—of course, my acquaintance does include my sisters and their friends.”

In spite of his friend’s easy acquittal, Darcy still felt contrite; his temper had always been his weakness; when it got the upper hand he always regretted it. He firmly believed in proper behaviour: that, no matter the occasion, one’s civility should never desert one; moreover, that the more one wished to show one’s regard, the more strictly one must adhere to the tenets of decorum. As a child he had been taught that proper behaviour was good behaviour, and he had never learnt to feel differently. His standards of conduct were higher than most, and tended to make him appear rather more formal than was common. He did make a distinction between those closest to him and the rest of the world, naturally, and when closeted with his intimates he did loosen his tight grip on his manners, as any one might do; but in company he was unvaryingly correct. This had earned him a reputation for reserve which was not entirely deserved; he was, in fact, a reasonably affable man whose faith in proper comportment, as a symbol of his gentlemanly regard for what was due his fellow creatures, manifested itself in an exacting observance of propriety. The fact that Bingley’s very opposite views seemed to give him and all of his acquaintance the greatest pleasure, and surrounded him with many well-wishers, did not appear to influence Darcy’s prejudices in the slightest.

Darcy’s contrition carried him through the rest of the evening. He was so obliging and agreeable in trying to make up for his lapse in manners that the two friends parted on the best of terms.

Chapter Three

Darcy would have leisure to regret being quite so obliging on the morrow, for he had agreed to travel with Bingley and his sister in their coach, rather than take his own. Miss Bingley was strongly persuaded that Darcy was to be the font of her future felicity, and this persuasion made itself felt to the fullest that day. As she sat across from him she constantly sought his eye with hers, begged to have his observations on the passing scenery, presumed his agreement with her observations on the same, and availed herself of his person for support whenever the coach lurched heavily enough to give her a plausible excuse. And for the four hours of the journey she blithely ignored his marked lack of enthusiasm for the conversation. Bingley contented himself with avoiding Darcy’s eye and pretending to doze as much as possible; thus was he gently avenged for his trials at his friend’s hands the night before.

The Hursts followed behind in a chaise, with the gentlemen’s hunters behind. Mrs. Louisa Hurst, Bingley’s eldest sister, was a woman of limited understanding, whose chief interest lay in seconding her sister Caroline’s opinions and echoing her least observations with an enthusiasm they rarely merited. Nor was Mr. Hurst Darcy’s sort; just one of hundreds of London gentlemen with neither occupation nor desire for one. His one social attainment was a proficiency at cards, which made him a tolerable companion to Darcy, he being fond of that pastime.

Darcy’s enthusiasm for the trip began to revive as they entered the environs of Netherfield Park, for he was generally pleased with what he saw. The farmland was well laid out; the soil, dark and rich, was to be seen between the stalks left behind by the harvest; sheaves of forage were being tied in neat bundles by workers here and there, putting the fields in order for the winter.

Bingley’s first true moment of triumph occurred just after they passed the gates into the park. A superb stand of shaggy timber extended away towards the left from the gates, and just outside its borders they surprised a herd of a dozen deer, led by a magnificent buck, whose snort of alarm sent the herd bounding for the trees. He momentarily favoured the coach with a wary regard before bounding away himself to join his charges. Bingley caught Darcy’s eye and both men smiled, appreciating the prospect of an exceptional hunt.

“Fine animal, that,” murmured Darcy.

“Looked well-fed, did not they?” agreed Bingley. “The lands hereabout must be remarkably fertile,” he added with a challenging smile at Darcy.

That gentleman gave his own snort in reply. “That, or your landlord could not afford to hire a gamekeeper to chase the beasts out of the corn,” he said.

Bingley grinned and shook his head at his friend’s obstinacy.

The approach to the Hall was quite fine, although for Darcy, accustomed as he was to Pemberley’s magnificence, it had not the effect it might otherwise have had. Still, he found nothing to criticise, and even some things to admire. Bingley’s smile of pleasure grew in proportion to Darcy’s appreciative comments.

“Do you truly like it?” Bingley enquired at last. His sister stilled her own comment and awaited Darcy’s eagerly.

“It is splendid, Bingley, indeed,” Darcy said. “Of course, until we ride the whole of it, it is hard to say with certainty, but I should say that every thing we have seen augurs well for the place.”

Bingley’s chest lifted at this rare compliment and Miss Bingley sat back with a satisfied expression. “It is well, then,” said Bingley. “We will settle in this afternoon, and I told Roberts to have a late welcoming dinner ready for seven o’clock. To-morrow we can take to horse and make the grand tour.”

This happy plan met with general approbation, and the various members of the party dispersed to their respective apartments. The manor house was modern and well-appointed, and even Mr. Hurst, who was an indolent man given to airs of wealth and discrimination which he did not, in fact, possess, found nought to criticise for his evening’s comforts.

The next morning Darcy awoke in the grey before dawn, owing to an unfamiliar bed and a window sash that rattled in a breeze that was just beginning to rise. Even as he turned over and buried his head in the pillow he knew it was hopeless: he was awake for the day, for good or ill. He pushed himself out of bed without much enthusiasm, knowing he had a full and very long day ahead of him. Bingley’s new housemaids were already at their work, for the fire in his dressing-room was ablaze. He began his morning ablutions without bothering to ring for his man, with the charitable thought of allowing at least that member of the entourage a bit more rest.

He had nearly managed to finish dressing before that worthy appeared. “Mr. Darcy, Sir! Why did not you ring? I had no thought but I would find you still a-bed!”

“I woke early, Perkins, and saw no need for you to lose sleep as well. But as you are here, see what you can do with this infernal neck cloth. It does not want to behave itself this morning.”

“Yes, Sir. Let me just have a look.” He took the offending article of clothing out of his master’s hand. “The cook here knows his business, Sir; Nicholls is his name. Your coffee should be ready now, and breakfast at our usual time, Sir.”

Perkins had been with Darcy since his university days. He was several years younger than his master and had first come to the Darcy household as a footman under Darcy’s father. He had had the best upbringing and education that his father, a tenant farmer on the Darcy estates, could give him, and he was a naturally civil and politic individual. About the time that Darcy was preparing to leave for Oxford there had been a fire in the stables: a cat had tipped a lantern off a shelf. Perkins had distinguished himself during this crisis, repeatedly entering the building to rescue his master’s stock and belongings at serious risk of injury to himself. This distinction had been suitably rewarded by his elevation to valet to the master’s son. He took his duties seriously, and was given to studying those matters of fashion to which his master did not deign to give his attention.

His neck cloth arranged to Perkins’ satisfaction, Darcy said, “Very good. Do I look all right?”

“Very fine, Mr. Darcy. And you’ll have a lovely day for your ride.” He paused and looked up at his master. “I did, hear, Sir…”

“Go on, Perkins. What have you discovered now?” asked Darcy. His manservant had the habit of bringing to his master’s attention any intelligence he had gleaned below stairs.

“Well, Sir, Mr. Hurst will not be joining you this morning, as he is unwell. He had perhaps a bit more of the grain than he ought last night, and is not likely to appear before noon.”

Darcy scoffed. “He never will learn not to wrestle with John Barleycorn. Well, that is no great loss. Aught else?”

“No, Sir, except that Miss Bingley’s maid did say her mistress was rather put out that you gentlemen were planning to be out all day.”

“Miss Bingley…hmm. Thank you, Perkins.” Man and master, while not given to sharing their opinions directly, understood each other; there was considerable similarity in their respective opinions of Mr. Bingley’s younger sister, although they were each too well-mannered to mention it.

While Darcy was at first inclined to discount Miss Bingley’s complaint as no more than her usual petulant desire to have her own way in all matters, a second thought revealed that this pattern was repeating itself with increasing regularity. It was clear she was beginning to feel a sense of possessiveness concerning himself and was, by her actions, attempting to inflict this opinion upon him by the simple expedient of assuming the rights of ownership. There are, no doubt, men in the world who might be annexed merely by the exercise of such an assumption, but Darcy did not count himself among them, and resented both the presumption and the guile that Miss Bingley’s actions exposed. Indeed, guile was one of his greatest irritants, and its constant use—nay, its nearly universal veneration—by the
ton
was at the heart of his deepest disapprobation of that set. Such were his thoughts as he descended to the breakfast-room some time later, where he immediately found a measure of support for his conclusions concerning Miss Bingley.

“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley’s voice greeted him. “Here you are! Your coffee is ready and I have sent down for your eggs-and-bacon.” Her welcoming smile was smug and hinted at a degree of intimacy Darcy had not the least intention of encouraging.

“Good morning, Miss Bingley. I thank you, but I fancy a chop this morning. And I see fresh scones; that will suit me admirably.” Her pretty little pout was lost on Darcy, who had turned away to the side table to get his coffee and butter a scone. He generally did prefer eggs-and-bacon, but a chop was a small sacrifice to maintain the proper distance between himself and Miss Bingley.

Bingley and Mrs. Hurst soon joined the party, and the discussion among the four of them revolved around the two topics of the day’s tour and the night’s entertainment. The women’s partiality for the latter soon drove the men out of doors to pursue the former, and they found there a very beautiful autumn morning in full progress. Darcy’s hunter, a fine and spirited animal, was restive after his time in the London stables; Darcy had his hands full until the two friends indulged in a race which brought workers up from their tasks and more than one admiring shout. Not knowing the land, they kept to the lanes and let the horses have their heads. They ran at a full gallop for at least a mile and a half through the quiet back lanes between Netherfield and Meryton, until the horses were thoroughly winded, their breath blowing great puffs of steam into the chill of the morning. This knocked the devils out of them and the two men, laughing and exhilarated, were able to proceed with their investigations without further difficulty.

They returned to the Hall late in the morning for a cup of tea, for the day remained cold, and then went right out again. Over the course of the next several hours they identified a very considerable number of repairs and improvements needed to bring the property up to its full potential, but even Darcy was forced to admit that the land was good, and the current uses well organised and thought out. He would not venture to pronounce it worthy of purchase until they had reviewed the books for the past four or five years, but allowed that it looked hopeful. Bingley, according to his nature, was for ever falling into raptures over possible hunting courses, the picturesque of vantage points, and plans for follies, fountains, waterfalls, dams for duck ponds, and all such manner of extravagant and unnecessary additions to the beauties Nature had amply provided.

They finally finished their ramblings in the late afternoon. Returning to the Hall, Bingley wanted to go straight to the salon and send for refreshments, as dinner had been early that day in consequence of the evening’s outing, but Darcy protested that they had too much of horseflesh about them and insisted that he, at least, would go up for a change of clothes before meeting the ladies.

Going up stairs, he found Perkins in his chambers, busily laying out things for the evening; hardly a single horizontal surface in his dressing-room was left uncovered. While Perkins helped him to change for the drawing-room, Darcy enquired after the state of disarray. “Are we in search of something particular, Perkins? You seem to have laid out every stitch of evening clothes we brought.”

“Yes, Sir. Miss Bingley sent her maid to me, Sir, while you were out. She gave me the particulars of Miss Bingley’s dress for the evening in order that your attire might complement hers, Sir.”

“I
beg
your pardon?” demanded Darcy.

“Yes, Sir,” replied Perkins, his manner conveying that his opinion of the matter entirely coincided with that of his master.

That gentleman was highly incensed. The brass! It was one thing to send to ask what one might intend to wear so that she might alter her choice to match, but to issue
instructions
! Before Darcy could find words to express his feelings, Perkins hastened to explain his activities. “Not knowing, Sir, how best to manage, I thought it as well to give you a selection. These,” he pointed to one grouping, “will match with the lady’s dress admirably, while those,” and here he pointed to another group, “will neither make nor mar her looks. But these,” and here he pointed with a hint of a flourish, “will quarrel so with her gown that no one could bear looking at the two of you together.” He was too well schooled to so much as smile, but there was an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Ah, Perkins,” grinned Darcy, “what a lovely thought.” He looked down a second time and the smile became a chuckle. “I shall have to think it over, but I appreciate your thoroughness and, all things considered, propriety.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Although Darcy was still chuckling as he went downstairs, he by no means forgot to be annoyed with Miss Bingley. Blast a woman, anyhow! Having granted her a degree of familiarity, he recognised the necessity of certain concessions contrary to his customary activities, but this was becoming intolerable. Yet, constantly thrown together as they were, he could not very well be consistently disobliging to her without creating hardship for Bingley. How could he control her rampant attempts to engage his interest without injury to his friend? It was precisely the sort of dilemma that resulted from those drawing-room intrigues so beloved by Society misses, and so despised by Darcy.

Thus, it was with a decidedly martial spirit that Darcy entered the salon. Bingley and the rest of the party were already there. Bracing himself to meet with more impertinence from Miss Bingley, he sat down. But her first observation was directed, not at him, but at her brother. “There, Charles, this is a true gentleman. He is but a very few minutes behind you, yet he is suitably attired for the salon, instead of the stables.”