Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 1

I part from Lydia and Kitty in Meryton and continue walking as fast as I can.

My heart is heavy with worry for Jane and my mind burdened by unwanted thoughts — unsuitable for a gentleman’s daughter — of vexation with both my parents.

I cannot decide whether I am angrier with my mother’s unreasonable and improper search for single men in possession of a good fortune and in want of a wife, or more irritated by my father’s tendency to make sport of her, all the while allowing her imprudent actions.

Yesterday, Jane received an invitation for tea from Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, and Mama insisted that she go on horseback. It was cold and cloudy, and we all knew it would rain; and this was Mama’s plan to force Jane to stay at Netherfield longer.

Well, that plan was successful to such an extent that my dear Jane became ill and was kept to her bed. As soon as I received her note this morning asking me to go to her, I dressed and hurried towards Netherfield. On foot, since the carriage was needed elsewhere and riding — even if a horse could be found — was not a choice I would ever make. As Lydia and Kitty wanted to visit Maria Lucas, we all walked together as far as Meryton.

Papa joked at breakfast about Jane having a dangerous fit of illness and dying in pursuit of Mr Bingley, but I could not laugh. Sometimes I wonder whether Papa cares about anything except for his library, his books, and his brandy. And perhaps me — occasionally.

I know he does love us and Mama, but his love is careless, derisive, and often inconsiderate. This is why Lydia and Kitty are never censured and became so reckless at such a young age.

I continue my walk, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles. I know I should be more careful and watch my steps, but in this moment, haste is more important than caution.

I know these grounds intimately, but this particular walk is different, and distressing, due to my concern for Jane as well as my reception at Netherfield.

I can feel my feet and hems grow heavy with dirt, and I can only imagine the disapproving looks that will greet me at my destination. Not that I shall care; except for Mr Bingley, those people are the last in the world whose good opinion I would court.

Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst are both insincere, fastidious, and presumptuous and think themselves much higher than they should. I wonder how it is possible that they are related to the amiable and pleasant Mr Bingley. Character traits have been distributed unevenly in their family. But then again, we are five sisters and so utterly different in appearance and nature.

More annoying than the Bingley sisters, whom I can easily disregard, is the famous and infamous Mr Darcy. The mere thought of seeing him again gives me strange chills, and I already feel uncomfortable. I cannot explain what it is about this gentleman, but I always feel unsettled in his company. That he is an unpleasant sort of man, arrogant and believing himself above his company, I know too well. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew this half an hour after he graced us with his presence at the Meryton assembly.

He is handsome enough, but what does it matter? In truth, I have never met a gentleman so favoured in appearance and so disagreeable in manners.

That he is rude and hates to dance, I also know too well. I feel fortunate that he refused to dance with me at the assembly; the prospect of ever being trapped with him for half an hour is dreadful.

But even more than all this, there is something about him that flusters me and causes me a nervousness that I have never felt before. Something I cannot name; nor can I dismiss it.

And his stare upon me! It feels like a burning flame that I cannot escape from. I know he always looks for something to disapprove of and criticise in me — and goodness knows I have plenty of faults to be disapproved of — but why would he be interested in doing so? Why would he take the trouble to watch me at all?

I often feel that he finds Netherfield tiresome and wishes to amuse himself by irritating some hapless victim. He, for some reason, has singled me out, and so he irritates me. That must be the reason why he asked me to dance at Sir William Lucas’s party. I felt offended that he considered me such a ninny as to accept. Who could imagine Mr Darcy dancing — and with me, of all women — at a small, intimate party in a small, insignificant town? Ridiculous. Perhaps I should have accepted after all to see how he would have responded. Now that would have been an entertaining moment.

I feel my left boot sinking into a puddle, and I almost lose my balance — and my boot! I put my hand down to steady myself, but when I look carefully, I am torn between laughing and crying. My gloves are now beyond dirty, my boots and stockings are a disaster, and my petticoat is at least six inches deep in mud.

I am already within view of the house, but I shall not go any farther without attempting to improve my wild appearance. I take off my gloves, arrange my bonnet, and wipe my boots on the grass to remove some of the mud. It is all I can do, and it is too little, as no improvement can be seen. Resigned, I continue walking, my weary ankles slowing my pace.

I should go down the lane to the front gates, but I am too tired and impatient, so I choose to climb over the small fence. I hitch up my skirts and reach the other side with little to no effort, only to regret it an instant later.

I find myself face-to-face with the last man in the world I would want to see me in my present state — and after scaling a fence in a most unladylike manner.

But I have no way out of this dreadful circumstance, nowhere to hide or to go, so I have to face his astonished gaze, his expression of disbelief, and a strange, annoying grin that looks more like a smirk on his lips, which are pressed together.

“Miss Bennet?”

“Mr Darcy. I have come to see my sister. I know she is ill. She sent me a note asking for my presence.”

“On foot?” His tone is somehow amused, somehow incredulous, somehow offensive.

Narrowing my eyes, I hold his gaze for a moment. Of course, his appearance is impeccable, which makes mine look even more miserable.

“Yes. Excuse me, I have no time for further discussion. I wish to see my sister.”

“Of course. Please allow me to show you the way.”

His voice sounds different from how I have ever heard it before, and that makes me even less comfortable. He walks by my side, and I am sorely aware of my dirty gown as I know he has noticed it. I should not care, but I do, and that annoys me even more.

Once in the house, Mr Darcy leads the way, and I find myself in the breakfast parlour, where all but Jane are gathered. I can see the surprise my appearance has created, and I bear their scrutiny stoically.

Mr Bingley is the first to recover, and he jumps to his feet, greeting me and immediately offering refreshments, but I decline, enquiring about Jane.

“The maid informed us your sister is resting now. You will be taken to her.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Miss Eliza, I am afraid I do not understand.” Miss Bingley’s tone is disapproving. “You walked three miles, all by yourself? In such…dirty weather?”

“Yes, to see my sister.” I choose to keep my reply brief.

Mr Bingley grins. “How very brave of you. It shows your affection for your sister, and I find it commendable!”

“Thank you,” I repeat, pleased by his genuine response. In his manners there is something more than politeness; there is good humour and true kindness.

Mr Darcy is standing by the window, still staring at me. He has said very little, but his gaze is unpleasant enough. Mr Hurst is tucking into his meal with great gusto, and he has said nothing at all.

A maid is called to take me to Jane, and she arrives swiftly, leading me upstairs and to the chamber assigned to my sister.

“I am Penny, miss. I have been taking care of Miss Bennet since last night. Please ring if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you, Penny. Can you tell me more about my sister’s health?”

“She slept ill, miss. She coughed a great deal and was very feverish. She isn’t well enough to leave her room.”

“Oh dear…”

My concern increases even more when I step into Jane’s room. She is happy to see me and stretches out her hands to me, but I take a moment to look at her before I embrace her. I immediately feel that she is still feverish, and I caress her flushed, warm cheeks.

“Oh Lizzy, I am so glad you came!”

“My dear Jane, you look very ill. And hot.”

She laughs. “You do not look your best either, Lizzy.”

“Well, well, you might not be so ill after all, if you can tease me.”

“Oh, I am sure it is nothing, only a cold, Lizzy. Everybody has been so kind to me. I am so grateful for the extraordinary generosity, and I am sorry to give Mr Bingley so much trouble.”

“I sense that Mr Bingley does not mind.” I smile at her, and she blushes even more.

“Caroline and Louisa have been very kind to me too.”

“I am sure they have.” I try not to roll my eyes.

“And Mr Darcy suggested fetching a doctor, but I refused. Surely there is no need for that.”

I look at her again and touch her forehead. Although it pains me to admit something so shocking, for the first and probably last time ever, I agree with Mr Darcy.