Chapter Five

“Was this the sort of … entertainment that drew you from the metropolis to this backwater, dear brother?” Miss Bingley asked archly as the Netherfield party took a late-night tea in the parlor. The two sisters had settled into one comfortable sofa while Mr. Hurst had fallen asleep on its twin. Bingley sat on a matching chair and Darcy loomed over the room, standing vigil by the roaring fire.

“I never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in my life,” Bingley enthused.

“You astonish me,” Darcy said. “All I saw was a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion.”

“But what did you think of the purported local beauties, the Misses Bennet?” Mrs. Hurst needled.

“The eldest Miss Bennet is indeed, very pretty,” Darcy allowed.

“Come, come, Darcy. The lady is a goddess,” Bingley enthused. “A diamond of the first water. A true nonpareil!”

“She,” Darcy paused. Miss Bingley straightened almost imperceptibly. “… smiles too much. A grave fault, I know. But there it is.”

“Miss Bennet is sweet girl,” Miss Bingley averred, “and one whom I should not object to know more of. But her family…”

Even Bingley offered slight grimace of distaste. Darcy thought the mother vulgar, but not too far out of the ordinary either from the matchmakers of the ton, or the farm wives of his estate. He had no desire to be in company with her, but was not certain that his present company, Bingley excluded, was really to be lauded in contrast. As for the rest of the family he had not noticed them among the crowd, none of whom had held the smallest interest for him.

“I had heard Miss Eliza Bennet is claimed as the most gifted lady in the county. The rumor has her as a match for your own peerless prowess. What say you to that, Mr. Darcy?”

“I would as soon call her mother a wit.”

Bingley got up, offering his friend a frown, and announced to the room, “I think I have had enough polite conversation for the evening and shall retire. I bid you all a good night.”

Darcy returned the good wishes and watched him go. Perhaps that was too far, Darcy mused. I must beware of letting myself fall into the wrong company. It brings out the ungracious in me.

Two days later Darcy was up with the dawn. He sent a footman to rouse Bingley, and remind him they were to ride that morning. He met his host a quarter hour later and they proceeded to the stables where their horses had been prepared. Darcy had a map of the estate and held it open for Bingley to see. “One of the first things you will need to do is have an accurate map of all the important points, farms, and features created. This one is from Mr. Morris, but we have no idea if it is current or exact.”

“You propose we ride out and see for ourselves?”

“You enjoy a brisk morning ride. As Master you should use every opportunity to survey your domain with frequency and regularity. Morning rides make convenient occasions for just such regular inspections. With that in mind, where shall we ride this morning?”

“The choice is mine?”

“It is your estate.”

Bingley examined the map. After a moment’s consideration he suggested, “I should like to see these farms this morning, I think. We should be nearing time to plant winter wheat? Going out to observe how that work is progressing seems worthwhile.”

“Very well,” Darcy agreed, and they rode on. “One thing to always consider. As the landholder, even on a leased estate, but most particularly when you are the land owner, you are the magistrate and must enforce the laws and keep the peace on your lands. In this instance it is important because you may want to develop the habit of patrolling the wilderness portions of your property as regularly as the cultivated lands. Poachers, vagrants, and other miscreants are often to be found among the forests and dells rather than the roads and fields.”

“How often does that happen really though? We are but twenty-odd miles from London, not the wilds of deepest Africa.”

“Remember the Bourbons. They were not murdered in their homes by the Zulus, but by their own discontented populous. Between the Ordinaries, the Strangers, the Luddites, and other radicals and revolutionaries your greatest dangers may not be from thieves and poachers, but from those that attack you for your place in the social hierarchy. That is why the landed gentry are offered the privileges we are, because we have to employ our gifts to defend the very structures of our society from threats both foreign and domestic.”

“You feel strongly about his.” Bingley observed.

“I have seen far too many of our class that do not take their responsibilities seriously.”

“I shall endeavor not to be among that select company. Of course, I do have an advantage.” Bingley’s smile widened as he nimbly leapt from his saddle to land on his feet. He began sprinting in the direction they were riding, rapidly outpacing the horses. His steed had started, but continued to trot beside Darcy’s mount. The stepper was well trained and familiar with his rider’s occasional extravagant displays.

Bingley was quickly lost to Darcy’s sight as he ran ahead. A short while later he came zooming up behind his friend, having circumnavigated the section, Darcy assumed, and leapt back into the saddle. “Nothing to see in those woods.”

“I had not expected there would be.” Darcy smiled at the antics of his companion. “You do indeed have an advantage over most magistrates. Your speed is amazing, and quite useful. You can patrol your entire estate in a matter of minutes. You can perform a daily inspection. As long as you keep the habit it will not take too much of your time. Just be prepared to find things amiss on occasion. And do try to avoid making too much of a spectacle out of yourself in front of your neighbors.” The last admonition was given with a genial smile.

As the two rode on, they continued to discuss the day-to-day management of an agricultural estate. Darcy had helped his friend prepare to take up the responsibilities of land ownership. His lease of Netherfield was the final examination for this curriculum. Whether he determined that the actual estate was ideal for his long-term needs, or not, Bingley would decide over time. If it was, then he would complete the purchase. If not, he would search elsewhere, having gained much needed experience.

Before long they arrived at what the map had identified as Seven Oaks Farm. Darcy had ridden by it during their initial tour of the property. It was a well-established farm with eighty acres of fertile land planted in rotation. A flock of sheep could be seen in a field away from the sturdy two story house. A young girl saw them approach and ran to the large barn behind the house. As they dismounted, a short stocky man in farmer’s attire walked out of the barn to meet them. He doffed his hat when he recognized the new master of the estate.

“Mr. Bingley, I bid you good morning. ‘Tis very kind of you to come in our hour of need, but Miss Elizabeth has lil’ Danny fixed up almost right as rain.” Mr. Stover explained, causing more confusion in his listeners than he dispelled.

“Good morning to you too,” Bingley replied, offering his hand. “What is this about Danny and Miss Elizabeth?”

“You didn’t know?” The farmer replied. “I swear that woman is a saint sent down from heaven.”

“I would not go that far, by any means, Mr. Stover,” Miss Elizabeth Bennet demurred modestly as she too came out of the barn. “Perhaps my sister Jane may lay claim to beatification one day, but never me.” She offered a polite curtsey to the two gentlemen. They offered equally polite bows in return, though Darcy’s was perhaps a trifle more stiff than Bingley’s. This reticence was due to disbelief rather than disapprobation.

The dour Derbyshireman was astounded to see this young lady, not only up and about at this early hour, but obviously assisting her neighbor’s neglected tenants in some fashion. He looked upon her and realized that, despite his disparagement of her appearance at the assembly, he found her countenance not wholly without appeal. She had a healthful bloom to her cheeks that was pleasing.

“It is most peasant to meet with you this morning, ma’am,” Bingley stated cheerfully. “But may I ask, what brings you to Netherfield?”

“Young Daniel had damaged himself sporting in the hayloft. Mrs. Stover sent word for me, as I have taken to offering some care to the tenants of Netherfield since the Sturbridges removed to Brighton. I am certain that the goodwife meant no offence to you as the new master.”

“None taken I assure you.”

“I had heard that you have been acting as sheriff for the estate.” Darcy said.

“Only in a very unofficial capacity,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “It has not been a bother to extend my normal patrols. And as our two properties adjoin, leaving a danger unanswered on Netherfield would pose a risk to Longbourn. Thus, it has been both neighborly and prudent.”

“You are quite the intrepid,” Bingley said admiringly.

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you,” she protested. “This is neither the wilds of Patagonia nor the battlefields of the Peninsula. Hertfordshire is normally quite tranquil. I spend significantly more time seeing to the medical needs of the tenants than to subduing insurrectionaries or discouraging poachers.”

“You are a healer too, then?” Darcy asked.

“I have some abilities in that sphere, though I lack formal training. I simply offer the locals what assistance I may.” Miss Elizabeth checked a small watch she wore pinned to her pelisse. “I’m afraid I must be back to Longbourn, lest my mother be concerned that I am not at breakfast. I bid you both a good day.” She offered another slight curtsey and turned to stroll towards the fields in the direction of her home.

“It must be nearly three miles to Longbourn, if I recall,” Bingley said, looking at Mr. Stover for confirmation.

“About that, I reckon.”

“And she walked all this way? And now intends to return on foot?” Darcy wondered.

“Oh, that don’t bother her none. She beat my Henry here and he was mounted on my best stepper. Come see what she done for lil’ Danny.” He quickly led the two gentlemen into the barn. Darcy saw it was well ordered and maintained. This Stover ran a fine farm. If he paid his rents on time and did not imbibe or gamble too much, he was just the sort of tenant that Bingley needed to keep in place to make his estate a success.

“Da! Look at this!” A young boy took several awkward steps towards them; the young girl who had given the alarm earlier offering him a supporting shoulder. Mr. Stover lumbered to him and swept him up in his arms. He ran his hand carefully over the boy’s left leg. It had been uncovered and looked bruised, though the color seemed to be fading rather than blooming.

“He fell from up there,” Stover pointed to the hay loft some yards above. “His leg was busted to flinders.”

“The bone was sticking out in three places!” the little girl added. Darcy blanched, knowing that was a crippling injury, even with the best medical care.

“But Miss Eliz’beth made it all better,” stated little Daniel.

“She’s a saint, no matter what she says. A saint.” Mr. Stover insisted. The gentlemen chose not to argue.