Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 19

T his second set of the ball on November 26 th will remain in my memory as one of the most excruciating half hours I have had to bear. As I dance with Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth dances with Wickham.

Miss Bingley keeps asking and teasing me about my previous dance with Elizabeth, then points out to me how wildly Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty Bennet are behaving, laughing and talking loudly and even calling out to the officers in the middle of the set. I cannot deny those two girls need a proper scolding and some good discipline. The youngest is Georgiana’s age, and my sister will not even consider being out. Seeing Lydia Bennet with the officers, my heart aches again as I remember how easily Wickham deceived Georgiana and almost convinced her to elope with him. Almost. My dear sister’s affection for me was strong enough to induce her to think more of not hurting me than of pleasing Wickham.

Despite my struggle, I cannot keep my eyes away from Elizabeth. She seems engaged in the dance and conversation, and she smiles pleasantly at her partner, but she is acting differently from other women who have tried to catch the scoundrel’s attention. I have no reason to doubt what she already told me: even if she is indeed upset with me for some strange reason, she certainly is not charmed by Wickham. However, I have every intention of taking proper measures so that the villain will not try his usual schemes and turn the people of Meryton into innocent victims of his deceptions.

Miss Bingley keeps talking, while I notice Mr Collins bowing his head to me. I roll my eyes inwardly, all along cringing at the prospect of the postponed conversation. Yes, this is all I need. And I must prepare for worse, as I know he will come and talk to me soon.

The tortuous set finally comes to an end, and when the music stops, I breathe in relief.

I move towards Mr Bennet, taking a drink from a servant on my way. Fortunately, I notice Mr Collins talking to Sir William, and I gulp from my glass, enjoying a few moments of peace.

On the other side of the room, Lydia Bennet is laughing, accompanied by Mrs Forster and some other young women. Wickham and a few of the other young officers are near them.

“I imagine,” Mr Bennet suddenly says, not looking at me but towards the dancers, “how much you disapprove of my youngest daughters’ behaviour. Please do not deny it. I am ashamed to admit that I disapprove of them too, but I am too indolent to take proper measures.”

I can find nothing appropriate to say in response; I cannot pretend to disagree.

“Perhaps indolent is too harsh a word,” I say.

“Harsh but well deserved. I find pleasure in few things, and neither raising five daughters nor managing an estate is one of them. I left the responsibility to educate the girls to my wife and Longbourn’s management to chance.”

Again I smile and sip from my glass.

“I wonder, how do you do it, Mr Darcy? From a very young age, you were forced to manage an estate ten times larger than Longbourn and had to raise your sister. And you enjoy books as much as I do and probably many other things. You are either better than other men, or I am less than I should be.”

“You are too severe on yourself, Mr Bennet, and too generous with me. I do have many responsibilities, but also many resources and people to help me. As for my sister, I have simply been fortunate and blessed. I can take no credit for her accomplishments or her good character.”

“I could say the same about Jane and Lizzy. I am fortunate and blessed with what they have become — and with so little effort on my part. They inherited few of my wife’s unguarded manners.”

“Indeed, anyone who knows Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth can find nothing wanting in them,” I say in all honesty.

“And I cannot complain much about Mary either. But Lydia and Kitty are quite the opposite. Both resemble their mother when she was young, in beauty and liveliness as well as in behaviour. A good father should have corrected their flaws, but I have been content to overlook them.”

A sharp cry draws my attention, and several people — including Elizabeth — hurry across the room. A small group has already gathered, and I cannot see what has happened until I recognise Lydia Bennet’s cries of pain.

I move towards the group on impulse, and I stop near Elizabeth, but she is kneeling on the floor, and at that moment, I see Miss Lydia on the floor, holding her foot and sobbing.

“I am sure I have broken my ankle! Oh no, do not touch it! Oh, it hurts so much! Oh, I shall die of pain!”

Mr and Mrs Bennet approach too, as well as everyone else. Mrs Bennet is wailing along with her daughter, while Elizabeth and Miss Bennet are kneeling next to her, and Bingley and Mr Bennet seemed lost and rather useless.

“We should give Miss Lydia some space to breathe!” I hear myself demanding loudly. “Let us all take a step back!”

There is some agitation, so I repeat my request, and there is some acquiescence, but Miss Lydia continues to sob.

There is a real commotion now, and I notice Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley rolling their eyes and whispering to each other.

In that din of voices, I need to raise mine to be heard.

“We should take Miss Lydia somewhere to rest. And the apothecary must be fetched immediately. A sprained ankle can be healed in two days or can become something more serious if not taken care of.”

“Yes!” Bingley interjects. “We shall place Miss Lydia in the room where Miss Bennet stayed when she was ill. And I shall send someone to fetch Mr Jones!”

Elizabeth and her eldest sister, together with Bingley, help Miss Lydia up and place her on a chair. She continues to cry, and a lot of people make sympathetic noises around her. Two male servants arrive, and I need to interject again.

“I believe the best choice to protect the injured foot would be to carry Miss Lydia in the chair. She cannot put her foot down, nor should she try to.”

Elizabeth looks at me, and for the first time since my return, her gaze is soft and tender.

“Darcy is right. Let us carry her in the chair,” Bingley suggests.

“I am sure it is nothing to worry about — only a trifling sprain,” Miss Bingley interjects. “Nobody dies from such a silly accident, only the ball is ruined.”

“I am sorry for the inconvenience, but the ball must not be ruined,” I hear Elizabeth answer. “I shall go with my sister and take care of her until Mr Jones arrives.”

“Yes, yes, Lizzy, go with her,” Mrs Bennet intervenes. “You have little business at the ball in any case. I shall come with you, but Jane can stay.”

Elizabeth looks at me again, and her distress mixed with embarrassment is touching. I wish I could help and reassure her more, but I have no right. There are still many misconceptions to clarify before I can claim any.

Still sobbing and whining that she will not be able to dance again, Lydia Bennet is carried away, with Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet following her.

“That was the last drop in the glass of my shame,” Mr Bennet says. “I must refill it with some brandy. Again, you have been more useful than me in regard to my daughter, Mr Darcy.”

“I wonder what happened?” I ask.

“Miss Lydia was chasing Mr Denny, and her foot slipped and she fell,” Mr Collins explains. “Lady Catherine always says how important it is for young women to act with regard for decorum. Her ladyship despises running, especially indoors.”

“Yes, thank you for the explanation, Mr Collins. Please excuse me, I must speak to Bingley.”

It takes less than half an hour for the ball to continue as if nothing has happened. The music resumes, the pairs return to the floor, and conversation, drinking, and laughter fill the ballroom again.

Mrs Bennet returns, telling everyone how hurt her younger daughter is and crying about her misfortune. I am once again standing next to Mr Bennet, sharing his mortification concealed under apparent amusement while his wife speaks loudly enough to be clearly heard despite the music.

“Poor Lydia, she was so sad she could not dance with the rest of the officers. Her foot looks so ugly and swollen! I hope she will be able to walk again. But I am glad it did not ruin the ball. Mr Bingley took so much trouble with it! And my Jane looks so pretty and so happy! Lizzy will stay with Lydia. She did not seem willing to return. I know Mr Collins would like to dance with her, but he has plenty of time to talk to her tomorrow.”

I cannot help frowning. The woman is difficult to bear, and while wondering how Mr Bennet chose his wife, I understand why he prefers to spend most of his time in the library.

An hour later, shortly before supper, Mr Jones arrives and goes to the room upstairs to examine the disobedient patient. Mr Bennet waits in the hall, and I join him. Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Bingley also come to wait for news.

“Miss Lydia’s ankle is sprained. Her foot is now blue and swollen. I have instructed Miss Lizzy how to bandage it and have left her with some medicine. The ankle must not be moved for a few days. If she wishes for complete healing and a return to her usual self, Miss Lydia must not put any weight on the foot until I allow it.”

“So, we should take her home and confine her to bed for a few days, and it will heal,” Mr Bennet repeats.

“Yes. But if you move her now, you must take a lot of precautions. She might be sleepy too — I gave her something to help her bear the pain.”

“Mr Bennet, Mrs Bennet, there is no need to move Miss Lydia tonight,” Bingley says. “She may stay here, and she will be attended in the best possible way.”

“Oh, my dear Mr Bingley, how kind and generous of you! This is beyond words! It would be perfect if Lydia could stay here until she recovers. And Jane may stay here to take care of her!”

Jane Bennet turns white, then red, and Bingley seems bewildered.

“That would be the best choice indeed,” Mr Jones approves.

“Then we shall take advantage of Mr Bingley’s generosity,” Mr Bennet agrees. “But, as much as I trust Mr Bingley and admire his integrity, I cannot allow Jane to remain here. It might cause gossip and rumours. However, Lizzy may remain. There is no such danger in her case.”

I almost choke, and it causes me to cough, while Mr Bennet and Bingley agree on the arrangement. Mr Jones bids us farewell, with a promise to return the following day. Bingley tries to insist he stay, but he claims his years of balls and parties has long passed.

We all return to the ballroom. Mrs Bennet hurries to spread the news to her friends, followed by Miss Bennet. Bingley goes to speak to his sisters, and I am left alone with Mr Bennet again.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he says. “My eldest daughter recovered from her illness at Netherfield, and in the process, Mr Bingley promised to host a ball at the insistence of my youngest daughter. Now, my youngest daughter sprains her ankle at that very ball. These coincidences require a drink.”

“I could not agree more,” I say, grabbing two full glasses from a tray. Guilt and remorse overwhelm me. There are many more coincidences of which Mr Bennet is not aware, and I wonder what he will say when he finds out. And, more than anything, I wonder how he will respond when he realises he was wrong in choosing which daughter should remain to take care of Miss Lydia.

The rest of the ball passes rather quickly. A few times, I escape from the ballroom and savour a drink with Mr Bennet in the silence of the library, into which the gentleman has moved and found his sanctuary. I skilfully manage to evade Mr Collins, and Mr Bennet helps me in that endeavour in at least two instances. I am lucky that he dances a few more sets and seemingly has some interesting subjects of conversation with Sir William.

For my part, I do not dance again, but I observe Wickham dancing every set. Bingley also dances another one with Miss Bennet, and the signs indicate to me that he is ready to propose very soon.

I am eager to withdraw to my room, to think of Elizabeth. A twist of fate has brought her under the same roof as me again. And she is angry with me again, just as she was when she came to take care of her elder sister. I clearly remember when I met her after she jumped the fence, with her petticoat six inches deep in mud.

I might be arrogant, but I am confident enough that, if I succeeded in gaining her good opinion back then — when she had a very good reason to despise me — I shall do it again. I have the advantage of having held her in my arms and tasted her skin on my lips.

It is amusing that we planned to meet at Oakham Mount in the morning if the weather allows. I plan to wake up very early and order a fresh pot of coffee in the library, just in case. Perhaps she will look for another book to read. Who knows? Stranger things have happened lately.