Page 16 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I went to examine the bookshelf, mostly to explain my refusal of cards, but stopped short when I saw the titleUpon the Mystyry of Draca. I opened it, but it was all pictures, with flamboyant captions and not very accurate.
Behind me, conversation over cards resumed.
“How I long to see Miss Darcy again!” Miss Bingley said. “I never met anybody who delighted me so much as your sister. Such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”
“It is almost savage the way she pounds the keyboard,” Bingley said. “And she is so slight a creature! Oh, do not glower, Darcy. I am all admiration for your sister and her modern music.”
“Does she play Beethoven?” I asked, and faces turned from the card table.
“She does,” answered Mr. Darcy. “Do you, Miss Bennet?”
I laughed at that. “No, Beethoven is beyond my skill. But my sister Mary is an advocate of his work. I admire what I have heard.”
“Indeed, Beethoven is my favorite,” cried Miss Bingley. “How delightfulthat his music has reached you, even here. Although of course, you do not actuallyplay. Are you too occupied pursuing draca?”
That was a petty attack by my standard, having grown up with my father’s barbed wit. But I began to wonder why she disliked me. I had done nothing to provoke it.
“They say Napoleon is pursuing draca,” Mr. Bingley said before I could jab back. “To buy them, or some such.”
Mr. Darcy rose from the card table. His tall frame drew the eye, and there was an expectant hush.
He walked to me and indicated the book I held, open to an illustration of a firedrake. “Your choice is interesting.”
“One that will not aid my pursuit of draca,” I said smiling. “It is pictures only.”
“Few serious books on the subject exist. It has been the work of generations to collect them at Pemberley.”
Miss Bingley leaped to her feet. “What have you chanced upon, Eliza? I am all curiosity!”
“I thought you dismissive of draca,” I said to Mr. Darcy, before remembering that was my private conclusion from the rumors of his lack of marriage gold and observing his extreme behavior at the ball.
An intense emotion played on Mr. Darcy’s face, but it was unreadable beneath his well-mannered exterior. He bowed and returned to the card table. But the game did not proceed, for Miss Bingley had to effuse over my book, and then search the shelf for other volumes.
8
LADY'S MAID
The day continued quietlyfor me. I spent most of it with Jane, and she slept through the afternoon. The swelling on her ankle subsided to bruises, and she took a few wincing steps to bathe. The young housemaid and I did up her hair—rather elaborately, for we were bored—and wrapped her in a borrowed dressing gown. Suddenly, beautiful Jane was smiling from the bed.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came up and began a cheerful visit. I watched, wondering how Miss Bingley could be so nice to Jane and so vile to me. I suppose Jane’s good nature brought out the goodness in others. Wisely, I ignored what that implied about myself.
The gentlemen had been out riding, and they returned with a clamor: the thump of boots pried off by servants and laughing exclamations about horses and fields. Mr. Bingley came upstairs and inquired from the hallway. After a few shouted questions, I intervened.
“Mr. Bingley,” I called. “The sky will not fall if you enter. You have two sisters, myself, and a maid all here, and Jane is most presentable, sitting up in bed.”
“Are you sure?” his voice came back.
“You are the master of this household. Who will object?” His sisters applauded as if this were a bold game, so he came in.
He beamed at Jane and told her a funny and modest story about their riding. Jane, in her restrained way, beamed back. His sisters and I were quite irrelevant. It was charming, and I was relieved my mother was not here. She would have announced their engagement to the room.
Miss Bingley smiled at first, but her pleasure faded. When the Bingleys left to prepare for dinner, her farewell to Jane was brittle, and her smile did not reach her eyes.
Jane was tired after the visit and slept again, and the little maid helped me dress for dinner. While she worked to fasten my dress, I became curious.
“You are very young to be a housemaid.”
I moved a little to see her in the looking glass and saw her nod, her little face screwed up with concentration while she worked.
