Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst gazed around the room, and Elizabeth imagined they were mentally calculating the cost of every vase, picture, and piece of furniture in the room—or perhaps they thought it too sparsely decorated. The Bennet family had been at Longbourn for many generations, and most of the items here were antiques, but for much of the past thirty years, its owner had been a bachelor. Without a wife or any need to impress, Papa’s cousin had never fallen prey to the mania for improvements. “A passing folly,” he had written, and Papa’s sentiments were just the same.
A few of the vases and figurines were quite valuable, some less so, but everything in the room was of the best quality. It did not prevent Mr. Bingley’s sisters from wrinkling their noses and pursing their lips before they so much as sat down.
Elizabeth and Mary waited for the sisters to say something, but Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were involved with sending one another silent messages of disdain. They were dressed for a call in London. Rather than impressing, their affectation only made Elizabeth wonder how dreadfully difficult it must be to keep all that silk clean, even now that it had not rained in two days.
“We are pleased to see you this morning,” Elizabeth said at last. “Jane keeps to her room, but she will be happy to hear that you called.”
“Yes, well,” Miss Bingley replied tartly, “we wished for a report on dear Jane’s health. Such a terrible thing to ride in a faulty carriage.” She really was a pretty woman. It was too bad that her sense of superiority marred her beauty.
Mary stiffened beside Elizabeth but did not speak. Elizabeth made her answer. “You are misinformed, Miss Bingley. The carriage was not faulty. The roads were soaked from the rain, and the shoulder of the road gave way beneath the wheels. The damage to my father’s carriage was sustained as a result of that event.”
“My brother said that the wheel quite fell off,” Mrs. Hurst added, which changed Elizabeth’s point not at all.
“After the accident, so I am told,” Elizabeth responded. “It was not the cause.”
“Surely that must indicate some great neglect on the part of your coachman,” Miss Bingley said, full of false sympathy. “It is difficult to find good help, even in London. We were pleased our servants came with us, for I cannot even imagine how to begin hiring here in the country.”
Mary’s distressed squeak was fortunately rather quiet.
“Then you were very fortunate in Netherfield’s housekeeper,” Elizabeth said pleasantly. “For I understand that Mrs. Nicholls did a great deal of hiring locally before your brother’s arrival.”
Mrs. Hurst waved a hand. “I am sure she must have, for the scullery and the like. Our cook travelled with us, however, and our ladies’ maids, as well as the men’s valets. They are the most important servants for one’s comfort, you know.”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth replied, “but I think you must agree that a cook cannot perform his or her duties without the scullery maids performing theirs.”
“Oh, certainly,” both visitors echoed insincerely.
“In answer to your earlier inquiry,” Elizabeth said, trying to return the conversation to a less hostile footing, “Jane is well and shall be downstairs again by Sunday, we think.”
“That is lovely to hear,” Miss Bingley said. “Your sister is a dear, sweet girl.”
“She is indeed,” Mary offered, having plucked up her courage. Elizabeth was proud of her.
After their shaky beginning, the call proceeded as did most calls between near strangers. They spoke of the improving weather and the coming festive season, and then the visit was over and the ladies from Netherfield stood to go.
As they entered the hall and approached the front of the house, the front door burst open suddenly, and Papa led Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bingley inside. “Lizzy,” Papa was saying even as he crossed the threshold, stamping his feet and ducking his head to remove his hat, “we have been out to the mill, and I had to put everyone to work. Order us some coffee, will you? It is rather sharp outside.”
Mr. Hill’s impassive expression as he approached the gentlemen was nothing short of astonishing. Elizabeth herself could not appear so stoic. She pressed her lips together to prevent herself from laughing.
The men had clearly not expected callers, and indeed, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were somewhat hidden behind her and Mary. None of the men were wearing their coats, and other than Mr. Darcy, none wore gloves. Even their shirtsleeves were rolled up to their elbows, and they were dirty and damp with perspiration.
Oh, she would tease her father about this forever. What had he been about, bringing them into the front hall at all, especially in this condition? They ought to have cleaned up first. For heaven’s sake they were half dressed! Bare forearms?Scandalous.
“Oh no,” Mary whispered beside her.
None of the men were paying her the least attention as they handed over their dirty clothing to Mr. Hill, rubbed their hands together and stomped their feet. Of their own accord, Elizabeth’s eyes went to Mr. Darcy’s long, muscular forearms before she closed her eyes. She then opened them, cleared her throat, and tipped her head towards the Netherfield callers.
“Perhaps it would not be so cold were you wearing yourcoats,” she replied, emphasising the last.
The men froze. Even Papa, who then very neatly escaped down the hall and disappeared into his book room.
Elizabeth turned to her callers to assess the damage.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stood facing the men, their mouths agape.
“Mary, dear,” Elizabeth said in a hushed voice, “please go find Mrs. Hill and ask for coffee for the gentlemen. You might also inquire about some soup or some other food she can have Cook warm up.”
Mary scurried away as the men fumbled to pull down their sleeves and don their soiled coats. Elizabeth might have suggested they step after her father to do so, but the men were too flustered to think of it and she was too amused to speak. It was too late, anyway, and whilst Miss Bingley feigned shock, Mrs. Hurst rather appeared to be enjoying herself. It did not speak well of her marriage to Mr. Hurst.