Pride and Prescience

Hurst, who was simply pleased to be able to so thoroughly indulge his fondness for petit fours at so little trouble to himself. Mrs. Parrish appeared insensible to the spectacle, eating lightly and saying little.

The conversation meandered through the usual polite talk. Mrs. Bennet dominated it, with the Bingley sisters nodding encouragement but contributing rarely. Louisa played with her bracelets, while Caroline repeatedly spun her new wedding ring around her finger and occasionally slid it up as far as her first knuckle. Elizabeth wondered if she was trying to draw attention to the ostentatious ornament or merely enjoying its novelty.

Once the weather had been thoroughly discussed — it was eventually decided that snow would indeed fall again before Christmas — Mrs. Bennet delineated the movements and activities of everyone in the neighborhood during the past fortnight, most particularly what all their acquaintance had said about the Bennet double wedding. Mrs. Whitingford had declared it the loveliest ceremony she’d ever had the pleasure of attending, while Mrs. Farringdale had expressed the hope that her own daughter would someday marry so well. The latter sentiment did more to placate Mrs. Bennet’s indignity over a past perceived insult to Jane than five years of apologies ever had.

“Ha! Who’s on the shelf now, I ask you? That milk-and-water miss never could hold a candle to you, Jane, and now her mother realizes it and don’t know what to do with the girl.”

“Miss Farringdale is perfectly pleasant, Mama,” Jane said, ever charitable in her defense of their sex.

“Hmmph. The only thing that could improve that young lady’s disposition is a larger dowry. Mrs. Parrish, I believe you’ve met her. Do you not agree?”

Caroline, though she had appeared to follow the conversation, stirred as if awakened from a light slumber. “I’m — I’m sorry?” She blinked twice. “Of whom do we speak?”

“Miss Farringdale. You know, that insipid girl with the pale complexion who—”

“I am sure your assessment is accurate.” Caroline raised a hand to her temple. “Forgive me. I suddenly have a headache.”

Parrish was at her side in an instant. “I’ll help you back to our room. You never should have left it, my dear. You need your rest.”

“You are right.” She rose and leaned heavily on her husband’s arm. “It was good to see you, Mrs. Bennet. Excuse my hasty departure. I wish you all a good evening.”

Elizabeth stared after her. It was good to see you? Caroline must have hit her head when she fell to the kitchen floor.

Eleven

“I did not know before,” continued Bingley immediately, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”

“Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing.”

Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 9

Late afternoon sunlight lanced through the conservatory windows, enveloping Elizabeth in its warmth. She basked in the sensation, having missed the feel of the sun on her skin during her time in London. She suspected, with the air growing colder as each day of December passed, that the greenhouse would quickly become one of her favorite rooms during her stay at Netherfield.

One of the properties she most appreciated about the hothouse was its fragrance. The conservatory served as a permanent home for exotic plants, a winter shelter for less hardy cultivars, and a nursery for seedlings awaiting spring planting. One corner hosted a small potted herb garden that enabled the cook to use fresh flavoring for winter cooking rather than relying on dried herbs — a treat that a previous tenant had implemented and Bingley’s staff had continued. The resulting blend of aromas created a heady perfume that she inhaled deeply.

Long shadows stretched across the floor; the first day of their Netherfield sojourn was ending. She wondered how many more would pass until she and Darcy could leave, but was determined to make the best of this visit while it lasted.

She wandered through the room, admiring a collection of tropical flowers. Bingley’s head gardener was a gifted grower — no wonder he was so frustrated with his inexperienced new assistants. As she passed a group of tall plants with particularly thick foliage, she sighted Professor Randolph at the end of the conservatory.

He stood just beyond a cluster of rue, so engrossed in snipping some bright green leaves off a plant in the herb garden that he did not look up until she greeted him.

“Oh! Mrs. Darcy!” He pushed up his spectacles, almost wounding himself with the small pocketknife in his hand. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I am sorry to disturb you.”

“Nonsense! Nonsense!” He folded up the knife and slid it into his trouser pocket. “I was just gathering some spearmint leaves for Mrs. Parrish.”

“I wasn’t aware she had a partiality for mint. Perhaps Jane should inform the cook.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from one of his breast pockets and carefully folded the leaves inside. “Hmm? Oh — it’s not for her to eat. It’s for her to smell. I thought it might aid her recovery — many believe the scent sharpens mental powers.”

“Really? I had no idea it possesses medicinal properties.”

He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “A little bit medicine, a little bit magic.”

“Magic — you mean luck?”

He shrugged. “Many of these plants are more powerful than you might imagine in the hands of an adept herbalist.”

“Another specialty of yours?”

“No, no. I’m just a dabbler myself. As an archeologist, most of my knowledge is of things long dead.”

“Well, I am sure Mr. Parrish appreciates your help with his wife. Have you had much opportunity to observe her yet?”

“A little. She has demonstrated reluctance to converse with me, and won’t discuss her injuries at all. Mr. Parrish’s presence seems to encourage her cooperation, however.”

“She is fortunate in his devotion.” The sun dropped behind the horizon, casting the room in dusky twilight. She shivered, suddenly chilled.

Randolph glanced out the windows, into the darkening night. “The days are growing short. Winter solstice is next week.”

“So is Christmas.”

Her statement received no response. Having fallen into a reverie, he stared at the waxing moon that had already started to rise.

“Professor?”

He shook himself. “Pardon me? Oh, yes — Christmas. We all certainly look forward to that.”

She soon left him in the conservatory and went to dress for dinner, contemplating his casual remark about herbal magic and his greater awareness of the winter solstice than Christmas. She was beginning to consider Professor Randolph one of the most intriguing members of her acquaintance.

“What do you read, Mrs. Darcy?”

“The Italian.” With little reluctance, Elizabeth closed the volume and set it aside to grant Mr. Parrish her full attention. Between her own scattered thoughts and the light conversation of others in the drawing room, she’d had trouble concentrating on the book and had persevered only to have some occupation from which she could easily withdraw when Darcy was ready to retire for the evening.

“Ah! A fellow admirer of Mrs. Radcliffe.” Parrish grinned and seated himself on the other end of the sofa. “I thought I was alone in that guilty pleasure among this company.”

She glanced round the room. Randolph and Parrish had just abandoned the card table, where the Hursts, Jane, and Bingley still played loo. Darcy sat at the desk penning a letter to Georgiana. A sense of deja vu seized her