Page 18 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
The valet cleaned Darcy’s brushes and sharpened his razor on a leather strap.
“Scripps,” Darcy asked at last, “do you know how long Bingley’s sister intends to stay?”
The valet stopped what he was doing. “I believe the master and mistress intend to have her live with them permanently, sir,” he said a little stiffly.
Gads. That meant that if he invited Bingley and his wife to Pemberley, he would have to endure Miss Bingley as well. If only they could invite Elizabeth instead. Perhaps he could seek Bingley out at the club in London and have a conversation with him there.
“I see.”
It might have been his imagination, but Scripps seemed a bit cooler after that exchange. Still, when his clothes arrived, he took them into another room to iron them, and returned them to the wardrobe with an exactness that Darcy could not help but admire. Darcy’s own valet would be hard pressed to find anything wrong with Scripps’s work, though he would try.
“Scripps,” Darcy said as the valet was preparing to leave for the night, “how long have you worked for Bingley?”
“Since September, sir, when he returned to the country. His old valet did not wish to leave London again.”
“And how did he find you?”
Scripps straightened his back and looked Darcy directly in the eye. “My uncle is Mr. Gardiner’s valet. Miss Elizabeth . . . Miss Bennet, that is, knew through her relations that I was looking for a position outside of London and recommended me.”
Darcy smiled fondly. “Of course she did.” Elizabeth would have known not only that Scripps was in need of employment, but that Bingley would be in need of a very organized sort of valet. Learning that Mr. Gardiner kept a valet did not surprise him; both he and his wife were always very well attired.
Scripps was bemused. “As you say, sir. I will be back at seven, then?”
“Yes, thank you, Scripps.”
The valet nodded and was gone.
Elizabeth placed her napkin on the table with a little sigh. Dinner had taken twice as long as it ought because Miss Bingley had criticised each dish as it came out. The soup had too little salt, the meat too much, the wine was too weak, and the bread too dry.
The meal had, in fact, been wonderful.
No one responded to Miss Bingley’s complaints other than the harried servants, but it did not keep her from continuing.
“Really, Jane,” Miss Bingley said as they rose from the table, “you shall have to speak to your cook. You cannot allow her to serve this sort of food to the family, let alone your guests. I will help you with it tomorrow.”
“I thank you for the offer, Caroline, but that will not be necessary. You are our guest.”
Miss Bingley waved a dismissive hand in the air, intentionally ignoring Jane’s meaning. “It is no trouble.”
“Caroline,” Jane repeated without raising her voice or appearing unsettled in any way, “Thank you for offering your assistance—”
Miss Bingley smirked and began to speak.
“But it is not required.” Jane met Miss Bingley’s gaze and said, seriously, “If and when there is a need to direct the staff, I shall do so.”
“My heavens,” Miss Bingley replied, her cheeks flushing with either anger or embarrassment, “there is no need to be rude. I only wish to help, and I have been mistress here, you know. It is not uncommon for servants to take advantage whenever they can.”
“That may have been your experience,” Elizabeth said with her offense barely restrained. “But Jane has known most of the Netherfield staff her entire life, and they respecther.”
“How dare you,” Miss Bingley hissed.
“I only speak the truth,” Elizabeth replied.
“Elizabeth,” Jane said warningly.
“Caroline,” Charles said sharply at the same time. He tossed his napkin on the table and took Miss Bingley aside, but as Elizabeth and Jane stood to leave, they could hear him speaking to his sister.
Mr. Bingley was less diplomatic than his wife. “You arrived without notice, Caroline, and you may feel at liberty to depart the same way. If you remain, you will be civil.”
