Page 11 of The Vanished Bennet Sister

The drawing room had been arranged with visible forethought. There were flowers on the mantelpiece and lines of imported china in decorative rows. It was not the best-designed space in the world, but it was, to its credit, relatively welcoming.

Mrs Bingley sat next to Mrs Bennet on the sofa and proceeded to conduct the most accomplished social performance Darcy had ever witnessed. There was an expertise to it that was almost admirable. Mrs Bingley was a woman who enjoyed certain varieties of conversation and could feign more excitement or positivity than she truly felt.

The talent came out here, as she directed the dialogue towards specific ends for her purposes. Mrs Bennet, who was absorbed in the pleasure of the exchange, did not appear to notice.

"Your drawing room is handsomely decorated," Mrs Bingley said, appearing impressed, "The wallpaper especially. Is it French?"

"It is, I believe. He certainly selected everything with great care."

"He?" Mrs Bingley questioned, tilting her head in casual interest.

"I am referring to the gentlemen who procured the furnishings. But the wallpaper…do you not find it the most elegant thing? I say to Jane nearly every morning: Jane, I have never seen wallpaper like this in a private house. The stripe is so perfectly proportioned."

"It is, truly. And your management of the household, I can see it is in excellent hands. Everything is so well-ordered. Do you have a large staff?"

Mrs Bennet embarked upon this subject at once, pleased to have met an audience. Mrs Bingley listened, noted, and asked the occasional well-placed question. She smiled as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself, which she likely was, only not for the reasons Mrs Bennet would have supposed.

Darcy endured it for a significant period, until he could not abide more talk of dresses, household management and the best shoemakers in the region. He had ceased to contribute anything several exchanges ago and neither woman appeared to have noticed his silence.

When the conversation moved to the difficulties of acquiring a competent lady's maid in London, he excused himself.

A sound reached him from beyond the French doors leading to the back of the house. It was close to a shriek, sharp and decisive in a way that suggested something had gone wrong.

The garden was sizable and had a gravel path, several tall trees and rows of flowers along the left wall that were yet to bloom. In the centre of the path stood Jane Bennet with a hand pressed to her mouth, and beside her, Lydia was pointing dramatically at one of the trees.

And a few feet from the tree, crouching on the gravel with a scattering of breadcrumbs and an expression of concentrated purpose, was Elizabeth.

In the lower branches sat a tiny yellow bird. It seemed to have recently discovered liberty and now regarded them all as if philosophically considering what to do about it.

"He was right there in the cage," Lydia was saying, "and I went in for a closer look. Then the latch fell open. I barely touched it."

"You did touch it, otherwise it would have remained secure," Elizabeth replied, her eyes fixed on the animal.

"I was only trying to see him better."

"The latch does not open itself from being looked at."

"You don't know that for certain."

"I do, Lydia. It's common sense."

"Well, I didn't mean to cause any ruckus. What are we going to do? He'll fly away."

"The first thing is for everyone to stop making noise. Jane, stand still and Lydia, do not point. It is not helping."

"I'm showing you where he is."

"I can see where he is. I am looking directly at him."

"Well, so am I, but—"

"Lydia," Elizabeth said sternly. "Please be quiet."

Darcy was standing at the garden doorway. None of them had noticed him. He watched Elizabeth extend a handful of crumbs along the path. She appeared to have decided on a course of action, which she intended to see through. It reminded him of the dinner at Mrs Abbott’s and the way she redirected his questions with similar steadfastness.

"He will not come down for crumbs alone," he said.

Elizabeth glanced up at the sound of his voice, her expression a mixture of surprise and wariness. “Why is that the case?"