P&P The Untold Stories: Caroline Bingley Writes to Jane

Miss Bingley is suspicious

December 18th 

Caroline was in the parlor at the Hurst’s house at xx Square when the doorbell rang.

“Who can this be?” said Luisa Hurst, her eyes brightening with the prospect of something unexpected. She had been playing with her bracelets for the past half-hour as she looked over the latest fashion plates, yawning and looking bored. Her husband, Mr. Hurst, was in a reclining position as usual, fast asleep.

Caroline’s heart gave a little jolt as the unmistakable voice of Mr. Darcy reached her. She watched the doorway in eager anticipation. It took forever, but she finally heard the familiar tread of footsteps.

“Mr. Darcy,” announced the butler.

Caroline pasted her best smile on her face, but as Mr. Darcy entered, she had to school her expression to hide her dismay. His face was pale, and his appearance was unusually careless.

“Mr. Darcy?” She could not help it. The words came out as a question.

She had considered him a role model, striving to imitate every aspect of his manners, from the way he talked to the way he moved. She even tried to practice the same handwriting, trying in vain to reproduce his perfectly even lines,  the neat slant of his letters, the way he formed his ‘t’s and ‘l’ with such economy of movement. In every way, he was a perfect gentleman. She was not the only one. Her brother Charles was forever envying the way Mr. Darcy’s cravat was aligned to his starched shirt. Charles had spent endless hours in front of the mirror before he had been able to achieve it.

In other words, Mr. Darcy had always embodied the image of a perfect gentleman.

Not today, however. A gentleman did not leave his house unshaven. Moreover, Mr. Darcy’s cravat was a disgrace. It flopped down like a rag. As if that was not bad enough, she had to look away quickly when she realized the third button of his waistcoat was undone. The button distracted her. Her fingers twitched to reach out and set things straight. It would be highly improper, of course, to touch a gentleman. She sat in an agony of indecision, trying to determine whether to mention the button.

But no. It was surely not polite to point out that his appearance was less than perfect.

“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Darcy?”

He nodded distractedly and sat. Caroline had the feeling he had not even noticed that she was there. She had never known him to be unaware of his surroundings. Her instincts told her there was something very wrong.

She could not pretend everything was normal. “What is it, Mr. Darcy? Has something happened to your sister?”

His eyes narrowed. “Georgiana? No, no, not at all. Why do you ask?”

Pleased to have his full attention at last, she gave him her best smile. “You are always so good to her. You are such a good brother.”

Should she ask if he was worried about something? Would it annoy him that she had noticed his emotions, or would he prefer her not to notice? She wanted to show him she was sensitive and perceptive, and to prove that he could rely on her discretion. She wanted him to confide in her. Yet how could he unburden himself to Caroline, when Luisa was watching them like a hawk?

Surely he had come here for a reason? Perhaps he did need someone to talk to, and just needed the encouragement.

“I cannot help feeling you are worried about something.”

“I am worried,” said Darcy, gripping the chair tightly. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he shook his head. “I am worried about your brother.”

She felt disappointed. Her woman’s instincts told her something else was going on, but perhaps it was better not to have that confirmed.

Perhaps she was imagining it. After all, Mr. Darcy had always taken Charles under his wing. It was understandable that he was upset by the debacle at Netherfield. Bingley had been a complete fool. She was certain that, if they had stayed a day longer, Bingley would have declared himself to Miss Jane Bennet and that would have been a disaster.

Luckily, Caroline and Mr. Darcy were of one mind about this. They had put their heads together and prevented it from happening. Charles was horribly impulsive, unlike Mr. Darcy, who always kept a cool head.

“You are very kind to my brother, Mr. Darcy. You saved him from a miserable future.”

Mr. Darcy gave a distracted nod. “I came here looking for your brother, but I can see he is not here.” He began to rise to his feet, and Caroline’s stomach gave a little pinch. She wanted to keep him here as long as possible. That sick feeling of something wrong had not gone away.

“My brother will be here any minute,” she said.

Luisa made a sound. Caroline quickly started to talk to prevent her from revealing that Charles was not planning to come here until dinner.

“Meanwhile, I will ring for some tea and refreshments while you wait,” she said loudly. She shot Luisa a look that said ‘Don’t you dare say anything.’

Caroline did not feel any guilt at the lie. Better a lie than giving Mr. Darcy the chance to do something foolish himself. Her instincts were screaming louder than ever. She did not want to acknowledge the reason, not even to herself. She worried that if she even thought about it, it would come true.

All she knew is that she had to draw a red line under the possibility of either Mr. Darcy or Charles returning to Pemberley. There was only one way of preventing it.

“I think the only thing to be done is for Charles to give up Netherfield. As long as he has a place to return to in Meryton, there is a chance he might be tempted to go back.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression changed. At first, something resembling panic flitted across his face. It looked like he would argue against it, but then his face brightened.

“I agree wholeheartedly. He must not give in to temptation. The only way for him to stand steadfast is for him to give up the idea of returning to Neverfield entirely.”

Mr. Darcy came to his feet and began to pace around the room.

A sudden glimmer of hope flickered in Miss Bingley’s heart. Her mouth turned dry. Was there another reason for his strange behavior – something to do with Caroline? Surely not? Could it be? Did he intend to…?

“Miss Bingley,” he said.

Caroline pressed trembling hands together. This was it, the moment she had been aspiring to for so long.

“Miss Bingley,” he said again.

Say it, willed Caroline. Say it.

“I have determined that you must write them a letter.”

“A letter?” she gawked at him – though she never gawked – trying to make sense of his words. Her heart plummeted. She controlled her sense of disappointment with difficulty.

Foolish, foolish girl, she told herself.

“Write a letter to whom, sir?” she asked, struggling to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Her original instinct was right, after all. “You mock me surely? It is you who are the more experienced correspondent. You write such charming letters.”

“I cannot write to the Bennets with any propriety,” said Mr. Darcy. “It would be unseemly.”

She schooled herself to show no expression, but inside her heart was like lead.

“I am afraid you have lost me, Mr. Darcy. I do not understand you.”

He put a hand to his brow and approached the armchair.

“You must write Miss Bennet a letter,” he said urgently. “She will be expecting your brother to return to Netherfield. You must make matters entirely clear. We will not be returning to Netherfield. You must remove from Miss Bennet’s mind any expectation or desire for such a possibility.”

Surely such a letter did not call for such turmoil? Why would he care about Miss Bennet’s feelings?

Unless the letter was intended to send some other message.

Was that the way of it, then? Twenty-one years in this world had taught Miss Bingley that a woman’s instinct is always right. She knew then that the message was not meant for Jane Bennet at all. Its purpose was to clarify the situation to Elizabeth Bennet.

Even as pain lanced through her, she felt a kind of fierce joy. Pain, because it hurt that Mr. Darcy was so torn about leaving Netherfield. Coming to this decision had been a painful process. Joy, because he was determined not to return to Netherfield. He intended to put this whole unpleasant interlude behind him. He was bidding Elizabeth Bennet farewell.

“I shall write the letter, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “You are perfectly correct, as always. We cannot give Miss Bennet false hopes regarding my brother. It will not do at all. Tell me what I must say, and I will be happy to do so. I am always at your service, as you know, Mr. Darcy.”

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