Christmas is past and now we move into that week between Christmas and New Year’s. I don’t know if anyone else feels this way, but this has always seemed like a week in limbo to me, with little happening other than waiting for the year to end. I am also not much of a fan of New Year’s, for I have never seen the movement of one year to the next as anything exceptional. Maybe I am a bit of a curmudgeon in this respect, but if so it does not bother me. Going against the grain has never been much of a problem for me!

It is the Christmas season I enjoy, along with all its attendant pleasures, from Christmas carols to the beautiful decorations in which we indulge. The Christmas services at church were especially wonderful today, for we pulled off the cantata as well as I was hoping, and this despite having several members out with illness. Somehow these things all tend to work out!

Now, however, is the time for buckling down again and returning to the projects that have had my attention these past weeks. I am still writing variations, and will probably continue to do so regardless of whatever else I undertake. I have said more than once that I would like to get into other genres, and while that is not going as quickly as I would like, I think I am making progress. I hope to have something more substantial to announce this coming year on that front.

In the meantime, I thought I would offer up an excerpt today on my most recent project. The title (working at present, though it may stick) is No Indignity so Abhorrent. If that is not ominous enough for you, a brief summary will have you shaking in your boots! (Ha ha, not really.) The situation is this: a year earlier, Lydia, who is a year older in this to prevent an overt robbing of the cradle situation, eloped with an officer and was never heard from again. With her misstep, the remaining Bennets have been ostracized from society. Thus, when Mr. Bingley and his friends come to Netherfield Park, they come to a neighborhood with the gossip still on their tongues and a gaping hole in the absence of their near neighbors. I hope you enjoy it!

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It was fortunate to Darcy’s thinking that the local gentlemen had allowed them a few days to settle into the estate, for it was three days later before the first visited. In some respects, they were men much as Darcy had expected to find, small community squires and gentlemen whose estates generated nothing approaching what it would have taken to give them a presence in town. This, of course, had the unfortunate effect of insulating them from fashionable manners, meaning those with whom they met conveyed a distinct scent of the country about them. No one epitomized this like the first visitor, a Sir William Lucas.

Sir William was a jolly sort of man, his rotund belly accompanied by a tendency to laugh and an excessive predilection toward civility. He was aging, perhaps fifty summers or more, had a thin greying mop of hair on his head, a ruddy countenance, and pleasant blue eyes. Given his way of speaking, he gave the impression of a man who had not been a gentleman long, for he appeared to exude something of a false imitation of gentle manners. Yet, for all that, he was not an objectionable man by any means.

“Please allow me to welcome you to the community, Mr. Bingley,” said he in an expansive manner, his welcome encompassing Darcy and Hurst, who was also present, though unwillingly. “We have not often had newcomers to the community, so I cannot but suppose your presence among us will be the talk of the neighborhood.”

This, Darcy took to mean that the mamas and daughters of this society would be eager to meet two young and independent men. Perhaps that was not what the man meant, but it was little less than the truth.

“We are very happy to be among you all, Sir William,” said Bingley, his ability to immerse himself with those of different stations continuing to astound Darcy.

In the ensuing conversation, they learned a little more of Sir William. While Darcy could not say precisely what had led to the man’s current circumstances, he made mention of his previous position as mayor of the local town, confirming Darcy’s inference that he had not lived for long as a gentleman. He was friendly and animated, much as Bingley was himself, but he had a fondness for referring to St. James’s Court and seemed to relish his privilege of attending there whenever he wanted. Darcy suspected he did not attend nearly so much or receive as much welcome as he intimated. Darcy tolerated him, but he knew within moments that Sir William would not be a man whose company he sought.

“Can you tell me more about the area?” asked Bingley when the man’s effusions waned. “You are the first to visit, so I know little of the neighborhood.”

Sir William smiled and nodded. “We are a small community, boasting only four and twenty families, yet I think we can claim a level of hospitality to rival anyone else. My estate, Lucas Lodge, is to the west and south of Netherfield, bordering on Meryton. My property is not nearly so extensive, but I am fond of it nonetheless.”

For some time, Sir William spoke of the families they would meet and their locations in the neighborhood. Netherfield, it appeared, was on the northeast of the traditional boundaries of the community, meaning Bingley’s neighbors to the north and east attended society in other towns. Of those in what Meryton considered their neighborhood, his neighbors consisted of Sir William, an estate called Haye Park owned by a man named Goulding to the southeast, a smaller one to the southwest with only a short border, and the estate to the west.

As he spoke, however, Darcy noted that while he spoke of his own property, Haye Park, and some of the other houses nearby, he said nothing of that estate to the west. It was as if the place did not exist, for the Great House at Stoke, Pulvis Lodge, Rutledge Hall, and Hollingberry Fields among others all warranted some mention. But none of these, from what Darcy could determine, constituted the lands to the west. It was as if they did not exist in Sir William’s mind.

It appeared Bingley also noted the discrepancy, for he looked to Darcy, his question clear, to which Darcy shrugged. When Sir William’s explanation wore down, Bingley gave him a look of some confusion.

“Thank you for that, Sir William, for it is clear you have an intimate knowledge of the neighborhood and your fellows. I am curious, however, for you have, as yet, said nothing of the estate to the west, and as my border with it is extensive, I am curious of the reason.”

Sir William’s face fell, and he stammered: “Y-yes, of c-course. You have my apologizes, Mr. Bingley, for I had not considered it.”

The man fell silent, giving the distinct impression he did not wish to speak of the matter, which was curious in itself, given Darcy’s opinion of Sir William as an inveterate gossip. While Darcy kept his countenance impassive, Bingley kept looking at the man, expectation written upon his brow. At length, the man capitulated.

“I apologize, sir, for you will find that no one speaks much of that estate. Or perhaps they speak too much.” Sir William shrugged helplessly. “I do not wish to say much, for it will do no good to add to the gossip, the extent of which is already far in excess of any good manners.

“The estate to the west is called Longbourn, and it is inhabited by a delightful family. My eldest daughter, Charlotte, is an especial friend of the family, particularly to the second eldest daughter. The family is named Bennet, but I cannot imagine that Mr. Bennet will visit you to introduce himself. I doubt you will see anything of them during your stay in Meryton.”

Then, with almost unseemly haste, Sir William made his excuses and departed, leaving three perplexed men behind.

“That was beyond my understanding,” said Bingley. “Did it not seem that Sir William did not wish to speak of those at Longbourn?”

Hurst grunted but left the response to Darcy. “It was nothing less than obvious.”

“I would not have expected it of him,” replied Bingley. “For a man who seems to put as much stock in civility as Sir William, it is decidedly uncivil of him.”

“It speaks to something amiss, perhaps a scandal of some kind,” opined Darcy.

Bingley nodded slowly. “Then I am certain we will hear of it anon. In a small community such as this, everyone must know of it; there will be many who wish to account for it.”

“That much is the truth,” said Hurst with some disgust. “There are always those with more verbosity than sense.”

Hurst eyed Bingley for a long moment and said: “It would be best to keep this matter from Louisa and Caroline for the present. My wife is a good sort of woman, but the two of them together have never encountered tittle tattle they did not enjoy.”

Though he grimaced, Bingley nodded. “They will learn of it soon enough. There is no reason to speak of it before we must.”

It was nothing less than human nature to be curious, and so Darcy was. There were many ways for those of society to misstep and provoke gossip, but there were few ways that would lead to a complete ostracization of the family in question. Sir William’s reluctance to speak of them at all when he was no stranger to gossip himself suggested that not only was there much talk in the district, but also that he did not approve of it himself. What that meant about the veracity of the stories Darcy could not say, thought he understood gossip grew in the telling. Being a man of decided principles, he kept his thoughts under good regulation, for there was nothing worse than those who took pleasure in the misfortunes of others.

A long string of gentlemen followed Sir William’s visit to Netherfield, and while most appeared pleasant sort of men, they were all minor country gentlemen. Not a one of them was so verbose, most paying their respects, some perfunctory who went away at once, while others showed a distinct interest in the two single men, proving to Darcy they likely had daughters of marriageable age. What they all shared with Sir William was their avoidance of the subject of Longbourn, though a few did make offhand or even contemptuous references. As no one spent as much time with them as Sir William, they learned nothing more of the curious estate to the west.