Chapter 6

Later that day

Caroline squinted at the sunlight falling across her pillow and turned her head, but that movement proved insufficient to block out the glare. She sighed and rolled over, then whimpered as a hot spike of pain shot up her leg. Irritation swiftly filled her, and she flung back her bedclothes, glowering down at the snowy bandage wrapped around her unfortunate limb. The apothecary had visited the previous evening to see to the ankle and had wrapped it snugly.

She did not have a high opinion of Mr. Jones, deeming him a most provincial sort of man. Perhaps he was well enough for the country but certainly not adequate for a lady of standing such as herself. What medical professional could not even tell if an ankle was broken or merely badly sprained? He had merely bound it in clean cloths, left her another tincture of laudanum, and promised another probably painful visit in the near future.

Caroline sighed deeply, weary of the sufferings the world and her brother saw fit to inflict on her, and peered across the room at the mantel clock, squinting. Distances fuzzed her vision, as though looking through a diaphanous curtain, but Caroline said nothing. If she were to mention it, someone might suggest she acquire spectacles, which would be appalling – a lady did not wear spectacles save in the direst of need, and her need was not yet anywhere near dire. Indeed, she could see quite well now that it lacked only a few minutes until eleven.

That was later than she was accustomed to rising in the country, but she was not surprised that she had slept long. She had been up half the night – the pain of her ankle driving away sleep, her mind whirling with horror as she dwelt on her brother’s disastrous engagement to Jane Bennet.

Why was she surrounded by such fools! She had ceased to expect any better sense from her empty-headed brother, but why had not Louisa done something? For that matter, why had not Mr. Darcy? He was a man of eminent good sense and was well-accustomed to heading off Charles’s foolishness! Indeed Charles had often confessed his gratitude for Mr. Darcy’s excellent advice.

But what use was that advice now?! For Mr. Darcy to tell Louisa that the grasping Jane Bennet loved Charles – it was too much! What could he be thinking? Love, indeed! What did love have to do with anything? Jane Bennet was desperate to marry well and had found the perfect gentleman from her perspective – a rich, amiable man who would not object to her vulgar mother and four hoydenish sisters! And when Charles had leased Netherfield, Jane had seen her chance and seized it. She had lured Caroline’s clodpoll of a brother into her snares.

Caroline felt a sudden urge to scream. The worst part of it all was that there was nothing she could do! Her leg was sufficiently injured that she was quite unable to descend to the main floor to talk sense into her brother or Mr. Darcy. Charles might come to her room, if summoned, but he would simply turn around and walk out as soon as Caroline started speaking of his ruinous mistake. Mr. Darcy, of course, would not come into her bedchamber at all, gentleman that he was.

She wildly wished that he would. Louisa had done her duty in raising the family’s position by marrying Hurst, and Caroline was aware of her elder sister’s sacrifice in this. Hurst was a lazy sort of man and not particularly wealthy, but he was a gentleman, and heir to an estate and owner of a house in Town. Louisa had done well marrying him.

But for Charles to marry Jane Bennet! The granddaughter of a solicitor, whose family’s estate was entailed away from the female line! What was he thinking! It now fell entirely on Caroline’s shoulders to raise the family’s name in society. Marrying Mr. Darcy – so wealthy, so handsome, so well-connected! – would be the perfect way to do so. If only there were some plan to lure him into her chamber … well, she would be perfectly willing to compromise him. Perhaps if he were outside her room, she could feign agony to draw him in?

An absurd notion, of course. Mr. Darcy would not come. And she was constrained now to hopping about on one foot with Belinda’s assistance, a most ungainly motion that she did not want her family or Mr. Darcy to see. She was altogether weary of her bedroom and might have a strong footman carry her downstairs later, braving the jostling journey in some oafish country man’s arms for the relief of a change of scenery.

But even attaining the drawing room or sitting room would leave her in no better position to speak her mind to her brother. Charles could and doubtless would simply walk out on her. To hop after him would be simply unthinkable.

Caroline blew out an angry, frustrated little breath. No matter what, it seemed that she had no recourse to prevent her brother’s selfishness. What a dreadful mess all this was! Why, oh, why did she have to be attacked by those savage pigs!

Her stomach gurgled and growled, and Caroline realized that she was hungry.

“Belinda!” she called out irritably. The door to the sitting room opened promptly, and her personal maid hurried through.

“Help me to dress and order breakfast on a tray!”

“Yes, Miss Bingley.”

/

The Butcher’s Shop

Meryton

The butcher shop smelled faintly of blood and sawdust, the floor stained but well-swept in front of the counter where customers would stand. Elizabeth gathered her pelisse more closely about herself, watching as Mrs. Harrison wrote hastily across a scrap of paper on the maple chopping block before her. Behind the butcher’s wife, several hams swayed slowly, with strips of salted beef visible behind them. Behind Elizabeth, the glass in the windows was foggy and steamed, the warmth of the shop at odds with the chill air outside.

“I will have all these ready for you the week before Christmas, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Harrison said cheerfully.

“Thank you very much,” Elizabeth said. “Now, I am not certain if you heard that my sister Jane is now engaged to Mr. Bingley…?”

“Oh, indeed I have, Miss! We are so very happy for both of them; such a fine-looking gentleman, and Miss Bennet is such a kind and lovely lady.”

“She is, and we are also very happy,” Elizabeth replied, beaming into the rubicund face of the butcher’s wife. “We are aware that the Netherfield tenants have been neglected these last years, and Jane wishes to ensure that they all receive a fine box the day after Christmas. However, it will take a little time to make a list of the tenants and servants, and determine their needs. Jane hopes to visit you in a few days to order meat for Netherfield’s people; do you think you will have enough?”

“Oh, assuredly we will,” the woman replied, her eyes bright with happiness at the prospect of more sales. “My brother in Leedston is also a butcher, and he can always send some over as he does not have as much business as we do. Kindly tell Miss Bennet that we will do our best to provide everything she requires.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrison,” Elizabeth said and turned away to plunge back out into the cold. Her three younger sisters were also in Meryton; Mary at the general store, where she was ordering various practical items for the servants and tenants, and Kitty and Lydia spending their allowance on fripperies in the haberdashery.

“Miss Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth turned quickly and smiled up at her favorite militia officer, Lieutenant George Wickham, who had hurried to her side.

“Mr. Wickham, how wonderful to see you on a brisk and chilly morning!”

“It is rather cold,” Wickham replied, looking down on her with admiration at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, “but there is something to be said for exercise, is there not?”

“Indeed there is. I hope you are well, sir?”

“Very well. I understand that congratulations are in order?”

Elizabeth turned an uneasy look on her companion. Was it possible that word of Mr. Collins’s foolish offer of marriage to her had escaped into Meryton society?

“What do you mean?”

“Why, rumor has it that your sister, Miss Bennet, is now engaged to Mr. Bingley of Netherfield.”

“Oh, yes! Thank you, Mr. Wickham. We are overjoyed for them both. I believe they are well suited!”

“I heartily concur,” he said and began strolling along the road with her. “The only hardship I can see is that she will doubtless spend substantial time with Mr. Darcy, given that the great master of Pemberley is her fiancé’s closest friend.”

“Jane has a very sweet spirit and thus will do very well in Mr. Darcy’s company.”

“I am thankful for that! If only I had been blessed with a meeker, more humble spirit, I likely would be happily settled in Kympton, in that charming parsonage. Alas, I have never been willing to lick the boots of those considered higher than me on the social scale.”

Elizabeth frowned a little at this. Was he implying that Jane was a bootlicker? Surely not.

“I need to collect my two youngest sisters,” she remarked, coming to a halt in front of the haberdashery.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.”

Wickham stepped hastily forward, climbed the two steps and opened the door for her, and she entered with a smile of thanks.

She was not as frivolous with her allowance as her youngest two sisters, but the haberdashery was one of her favorite shops. There was something in her soul that thrilled to the spools of ribbons in their neat wooden cases, the bouquets of shoe flowers for adorning slippers, the bonnets on their stands and the lace in a veritable rainbow of colors. Gloves lay opened to reveal the intricacies of their lace and painted patterns, and hats on their forms lined the counters.

Tall windows faced the front of the shop and one side, letting in an ocean of sunlight throughout the majority of the day. Carefully covered lanterns sat around the store in the places least likely for their fire to catch on the wares, the metal casings decorated with cutouts of suns and moons and stars and flowers. A vase of dried roses sat in a pleasing porcelain vase on the counter, their scent long gone but their beauty frozen in time.

Lydia and Kitty stooped together and quarreled pettishly by a polished wooden case of lace and frills, ceasing their argument to look up as the door chimed. Their faces lit with pleasure at the sight of the militiaman entering behind Elizabeth, and both rushed over at once with only a cursory greeting to their sister, determined to hang on Lieutenant Wickham’s arms and chatter at him with batting lashes.

Elizabeth paid them little heed, crossing to examine the display of ribbons. She needed to do over a dress for Jane’s wedding; perhaps the dusty sage green one? She could purchase the dark fir colored ribbons to put around the neckline and base of the bodice, that might look nice. Or maybe lace at the neckline instead? And she could wear her pearls with it.

Lydia’s shrill voice caught her attention momentarily, and Elizabeth looked up and sighed. Her youngest sister, inspired by her mother’s constant remarks on the subject, was talking incessantly of Jane’s upcoming wedding and Bingley’s great wealth. It was both vulgar and embarrassing, but Wickham was listening indulgently with a faint smile brightening his handsome countenance. Elizabeth turned back to her shopping. She did not think the militiaman would be too repulsed by Lydia’s gregariousness. Doubtless Wickham, amiable and charming, well understood a young girl’s tendency to chatter without judging overmuch, unlike certain proud and stiff-necked gentlemen.

Rejecting the lace at last, Elizabeth selected a ribbon and moved towards the counter to pay for it.

“Oh, Lizzy, do you have a few pence to lend me?” Lydia demanded, hurrying to her side. “I simply must have some new ribbons to freshen the bonnet I will wear to the wedding, but I have used up all my allowance!”

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and shook her head. “I am sorry, Lydia, but I only brought enough for my own ribbons. I do have some red ribbon at home you could use.”

“Red will not do at all!” Lydia pouted. “Oh, I am certain that you do not need all that ribbon…”

“If I may, Miss Lydia, I would be pleased to purchase it for you,” Wickham said with a bow.

Elizabeth, startled and scandalized by the suggestion said, “Oh, Mr. Wickham, that is very kind, but it is hardly necessary.”

Lydia was now smiling blindingly at the lieutenant and said, “It is necessary, Lizzy. You have no right to interfere…”

“Mr. Wickham,” a stern male voice said from behind the counter, and the entire party turned to face Mr. Pilpot who, along with his wife, owned and operated the store. “If you intend to purchase ribbons, you will need to pay off your accounts first.”

Elizabeth turned a surprised look toward Wickham and observed an expression of shock on his face, which quickly shifted into its usual expression of good humor.

“My dear sir,” he said, “I do apologize for letting my account run up a trifle, but I will, of course, pay it in time. I hope you agree that a few ribbons are hardly worth worrying about?”

“Not for you, perhaps, but for me, yes. Four pounds is too rich for my blood, sir. You will purchase no more until you pay it off.”

For a second, there was a strange look in the lieutenant’s eye that took Elizabeth aback, but a moment later he bowed and smiled. “Of course, sir. I do apologize – I had not realized that I had purchased so much! Miss Lydia, I fear I will not be able to purchase ribbons for you, as I left the barracks with nothing in my pockets.”

Lydia’s pretty face drooped in disappointment, and then she turned avaricious eyes on her elder sister again. “Oh Lizzy, you will pay for my ribbons, will you not?”