Into Hertfordshire by Stanley Michael Hurd Page B

sat facing Hurst, and Darcy knew from experience that he would have little conversation to offer her.
    Against the incivility of his sisters, whose regard for Miss Bennet evaporated the moment food touched their lips, Bingley’s continued enquiries stood out in marked contrast by their solicitude and obvious sincerity. Indeed, Darcy felt he was having to do too much, and would have taken some of the burden of polite concern off of his friend’s shoulders, except that each time he leaned forward to address Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Bingley would lean forward as well with something to ask Mrs. Hurst, who sat across from Darcy. The second time this happened he felt the stirring of suspicion, but when it happened a third time, and even the fourth, he made sure she was acting wilfully to hamper any conversation between Elizabeth and himself. Piqued, he did his best to counteract her ploy, but her manœuvre, while simple, was effective at frustrating his attempts. He toyed with the idea of using one of the elaborate coils in her coiffure as a handle to hold her back in her chair so that he might have an unimpeded word with Elizabeth, but he forbore with a sigh, and ceded Miss Bingley her victory.
    For her part, Elizabeth did her best to enter into the conversation, but seldom received more than a condescending nod from the sisters in reply. For want of better, she finally addressed Mr. Hurst. That gentleman, who rarely found himself called on to respond to any enquiry, fell back on one of the two topics over which he had any mastery, food and cards, and asked her how she enjoyed the ragout. He, being gourmand rather than gourmet, enjoyed those foods combining strong flavours and heavy texture. Elizabeth answered politely that she generally preferred a plain dish of perfect freshness and natural flavours to the “creations of man’s ingenuity .” Hurst looked at her as he might have done had she replied that she preferred adders’ tongues, and spoke no more to her.
    Darcy was determined to speak with her after dinner, but she, perhaps as a result of the incivility she had met with, returned immediately up stairs to her sister. To Darcy’s annoyance, Bingley’s sisters began their attack on her as soon as her steps were heard upon the stairs.
    “Louisa, have you ever seen such manners? She hardly spoke a word, and then only to contradict.”
    “Indeed, Caroline, her manners are very bad. She combines an entirely baseless pride with impertinent opinions, and scruples not to inflict them on others.”
    “My very thoughts; and her appearance! What was that garment she had on?”
    “Oh! Quite,” Mrs. Hurst exclaimed, “I believe I saw one like it some ten years ago; but the poor woman who wore it disappeared from all polite society immediately after.”
    “She has no style, no taste, no beauty…”
    Her sister interrupted with a superior laugh: “She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.”
    “She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister has a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!” At this Darcy nearly lost his countenance; he had retained an altogether different impression of her appearance. He contented himself with directing a whimsical face, compounded of consternation and amazement, at his plate. It passed unnoticed by the two ladies.
    “Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat,” said Louisa; “six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.” Here Darcy caught Bingley’s eye with a wry expression. Who could think of petticoats when such a singular picture of feminine loveliness was before one?
    Bingley gave his agreement to Darcy with a glance and took his sister to task: “Your picture may be very