Page 66 of The Briar Bargain
Elizabeth had expected to find the sitting room empty.
She had come in search of a book she had neglected to bring upstairs the night before. This part of the house was oddly quiet. Even the servants seemed to be engaged elsewhere.
Which was why the sight of Miss Bingley alone, cloaked in silk the colour of autumn leaves and sipping something hot from a delicate porcelain cup was so unexpected that Elizabeth stopped short on the threshold.
The afternoon light cast everything in soft relief. Miss Bingley sat with her back to the tall windows, yet even in silhouette, her posture spoke of careful arrangement. Not a fold of her gown was out of place, not a curl had escaped her elaborate coiffure. She was a portrait of elegance, save for the way her fingers gripped the cup's handle with unnecessary firmness.
"Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said with brittle brightness, setting down her cup with the faintest click against the saucer. "How industrious you are."
Elizabeth offered a mild smile and stepped inside. "I came for my book."
A smile that did not reach Miss Bingley’s eyes spread across her features. “You are a great reader, despite your protests.”
"The weather has recently made other pursuits difficult." Elizabeth crossed to the book she had left on a side table on the other side of the room. The other woman's composure was immaculate, but her posture was almost rigid.
Behind her, she could hear the gentle clink of porcelain. Miss Bingley was drinking with deliberate, measured sips, as though the very act required her full concentration. When Elizabeth glanced again at the reflection, she caught sight of Miss Bingley's profile turned away from her and was surprised to find it drawn with what appeared to be genuine weariness.
There was silence but for the clock ticking on the mantel, its steady rhythm marking time in the quiet room. A log settled in the fireplace with a soft hiss, sending up a small shower of sparks that glowed briefly before dying.
Elizabeth picked up her book and turned to face Miss Bingley properly.
"I shall leave you now," she said with a polite dip of the head.
"Do enjoy your novel," Miss Bingley returned, though her gaze did not quite meet Elizabeth's.
She paused at the doorway, struck by an odd impulse to say something more, though she could not think what. Miss Bingley had resumed her careful sipping, her attention apparently fixed on some point beyond the windows. The light from the windows revealed the fine lines of strain around her eyes that powder could not quite conceal.
But the moment passed without further discourse, and Elizabeth took her leave.
Elizabeth had never been one to hide from unpleasant company, but as the afternoon shadows lengthened across Netherfield's polished floors, shefound herself entertaining the notion of a prudent retreat. The morning's triumph over Miss Bingley had been satisfying, but now she was uneasily awaiting her hostess's next move. For Miss Bingley had proven herself unwilling to yield. Elizabeth was very, very anxious for the bridge to be repaired.
Mr. Bingley had disappeared into the study with Mr. Linton, who was supervising the repairs, and the thought of returning to the drawing room, where Miss Bingley was certain to engage in some fresh offence disguised as genteel conversation, held little appeal. Nor did she care to sit in the morning parlour which Mr. Hurst had claimed as his own, playing some solitary game with his cards and what appeared to be the better part of a cold ham. The man's recent reconciliation with his wife had apparently strengthened both his appetite and his enthusiasm for games of chance, though his table manners remained as questionable as ever.
Jane had retired to their chambers to rest before dinner, and Elizabeth knew that she ought to do the same, but she remained too restless to sleep.
And she had no idea where Mr. Darcy had gone. Perhaps he was with Mr. Bingley.
Which left Elizabeth herself at loose ends, wandering through the more neglected corners of Netherfield's public rooms. The house was larger than Longbourn by half, with passages that seemed to stretch in directions she had not previously explored.
As she turned a corner, she could hear raised voices. One was Miss Bingley's, sharp and accusing, and the other, a softer one that quavered in reply. Elizabeth paused for a moment before she quickened her step and came upon the scene. Miss Bingley stood in the doorway of a small anteroom, a maid standing before her looking pale and wretched.
"I shall not have excuses, Susan," Miss Bingley declared with a note of triumph. "My ivory fan is missing, and no one else had cause to be in my chamber this morning. You had better confess at once."
The young woman stammered a denial, her hands twisting together.
Elizabeth recognized Susan immediately—the girl was from Meryton, daughter to the baker's widow, and had worked briefly at Longbourn before seeking better wages in service elsewhere. Elizabeth remembered her as industrious and scrupulously honest, qualities that had made her departure a genuine loss to the Bennet household.
"Miss Bingley," Elizabeth said firmly, "might I have a word?"
Miss Bingley's head turned and when she saw who had interrupted, her brows drew together. Propriety, however, demanded she acquiesce. "Remain where you are, Susan," she commanded, though her tone grew marginally less severe. "This matter is far from settled."
She stepped aside with Elizabeth, her chin lifted. "Yes, Miss Eliza?”
“I wished to speak to you about Susan.”
Miss Bingley frowned. “I trust you do not mean to interfere in the management of my servants?"
"I would not presume to do so," Elizabeth replied. "I merely wish to observe that I have known her for several years. Her family are respectable people of Meryton. Her mother is a woman of unimpeachable character who raised her children to value honesty. Surely such a serious accusation ought not rest upon suspicion alone?"
