Page 82 of Colour My World
“I would see for myself,” Elizabeth said. “Mary. Kitty. Will you accompany me?”
Mary inclined her head. “Of course.”
Kitty looked at the rain. “I shall fetch my cloak.”
“Mr Bennet, surely the carriage can be arranged.”
“No. Given who leads this expedition, I trust two feet more than four.” He folded his newspaper and departed.
The rain had steadied to a fine mist as the girls stepped into the lane.
“How concerned are you for Jane?” Kitty asked.
“I cannot think ill of Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth replied. “My hopes lie with Mrs Hurst.”
“She was very kind on her last visit,” Mary remarked.
A few minutes later, they parted at the fork: to the right, High Street and its rooftops; to the left, the road to Netherfield Park.
“Tell Jane she is in our prayers,” Mary said. She and Kitty waved as they veered down the right-side path.
Elizabeth continued alone. She picked up her pace, left the road, and crossed the fields; her boots greeting each stile and puddle. Her thoughts were full: concern for Jane, distrust of Miss Bingley, and uncertainty regarding Mrs Hurst.
She dabbed at her neck with a linen, ignoring her weary ankles, muddy boots, and sodden hem.
The manor house came into view. Moments later, she ascended the front steps. The door opened. The Netherfield Park butler, Mr Hudson, his expression as unreadable as she remembered, stood at the threshold. Hisairewas tan.
“I must see my sister.”
“Miss Bennet is in the east guest chamber.” He gestured, and a footman stepped forward. Then the butler glanced down at her muddy boots and raised a single eyebrow. “She is well cared for.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Without a word, she reached into her reticule and produced a neatly folded pair of indoor slippers. “Thank you, Mr Hudson.”
As the footman took her boots away, Mr Hudson led her towards an open set of doors. Miss Bingley’s voice carried like a cat’s paw across a schoolroom slate. “Arriving in the rain? How very provincial.”
Elizabeth did not falter. Miss Bingley’s words were as hollow as her hospitality. Jane needed her. And she followed MrHudson into a large drawing room. Her slippers whispered against the polished floor; the air smelled of beeswax and fresh arrangements. She schooled her expression.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Miss Bingley reclined upon a settee, herairea vibrant green.
What do I have for her to envy?
“What an unexpected pleasure. I had thought the weather quite prohibitive.”
Elizabeth removed her damp gloves. “It was. Yet here I am.”
“Indeed. And what brings you to Netherfield Park, might I ask?”
“My sister, of course.”
Mrs Hurst, seated near the fire, gave a light cough though herairedeepened. Amusement? At whom, Elizabeth knew not.
Miss Bingley sighed long and theatrically. “You must not distress yourself. Your sister is in excellent hands.”
“That is most reassuring. You will not mind if I see her?”
“Surely you cannot think such a visit wise? You have just arrived, and the rain. Good heavens, you are positively dripping.”
