Age Recommendation: 16+
The complexities of high society are all the more, when your world is at war, and you're a witch. Magic comes with a terrible amount of responsibility. Far too much to let romance interfere.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
A truth so fixed, that in the minds of the families of a neighbourhood, the man might be considered the rightful property of the daughters within the place.
Upon entering a property, the man ceases to be himself, and becomes a prize to be hard won.
This was the truth of Longbourn, on this eve, when a gathering could be found at the edge of a forest, contained within the estate of Longbourn House. A gathering of three-and-one, as is right and proper for all things magical.
The oldest lady, for she was no crone, adjusted the hood of her black cloak uncomfortably, before passing a hand over the traditional cauldron. A cup of water could do, but a cauldron was right and proper, for all things foretelling.
"Netherfield Park is let."
"Is it?" The one man present said, with boredom and disinterest.
As if he might have turned to a newspaper, had he one to hand. Unfortunately, he was leaning against a tree, and the most fascinating thing was a grouping of pine needles in a classical Hertfordshire pine forest. Needless to say, of little significance.
"It is." She stated firmly, looking down into the misty waters within the cauldron, "I can see it now... Do you not care to know, who has taken it?"
"If you care to tell me, I have little objection to hearing it. It might speed the way from this cold and damp." He replied with a monotone.
The woman gave a small and soft cackle, "I see a man. He comes from the north, the south wind driving him... He comes in a chaise... I see the number four. There is... Ah. There are four horses."
"Fascinating." The man said dryly.
"Hush!" One of the other women whispered fiercely.
The eldest nodded again, "I see... Angels. Michael. Gabriel. Raphael! Yes, the Feast of Archangels. He will take possession before the feast... The servants are already packing. Preparing. Oh my."
"Oh my." The other two women echoed.
The man looked up at them in mild surprise, "Oh my?"
"A fortune!" The eldest exclaimed.
"A fortune." The other two echoed.
The man nodded slowly, "A man of fortune comes. I wonder who?"
"A name... Always a name..." The eldest woman muttered in annoyance, and adjusted her cowl again, before taking a ladle from beside the cauldron and dipping it. She lifted and sipped, as the other two closed in behind her.
As her throat bulged to swallow, a keening wail, like that of a red fox, escaped her mouth and deafened them all. Or rather, deafened the man who never knew when to expect it, but not the other two who were just now removing cotton balls from their ears, having known precisely when it was to occur.
"Bing-ley..." The gasp emerged from the staggering eldest. "Bing-ley... Single... Of great fortune... F-f-four thous-and... A year..."
"I hardly asked after his means." The man said steadily, tapping at one of his ringing ears.
The eldest woman pulled herself tiredly to her feet, by the cloaks of the other two, and beamed at them excitedly, "What a fine thing for you, my dearests."
"How so? How can it possibly affect them?" The man asked.
She shot a glare over at him, "My dear Mr. Bennet, how can you be so very tiresome? You must know that marriage is within the stars."
"Is that his design, in settling here? Is that what you saw?"
"Design. Nonsense!" She huffed, "But it is very likely that he might soon fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him, as soon as he comes."
Mr. Bennet blinked, "I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps would be better. You are as beautiful as any of them, Mrs. Bennet, and Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party."
She huffed again, "No names when witching, Mr. Bennet! Though, the flattery is not unappreciated. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do believe it has much been stolen by the coming and going of autumn. Yet, when a woman has five grown daughters she ought not to fret upon her own handsomeness."
He smiled lovingly at her, "In such cases it is rare that a woman has such beauty of her own to consider."
"Enough. The moon begins to wane." She waved a hand dismissively, though a hint of pinkness to her cheeks could just be seen beneath the cowl. "All the same you must go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."
He shook his head, "It is more than for myself."
"Of course it is! You must consider your daughters." She snapped, "It would be such an establishment for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are surely going, merely on their own account. They are rare to visit newcomers. You must absolutely go - it is to the turn of the winds."
"Is this foresight, or a rumouring that you have heard?" Mr. Bennet asked her suspiciously, not missing the extra knowledge that had appeared without magical intervention.
"Father!" One of the others outburst, her hood falling back to reveal her radiant white hair, twisted into four braids that were brought together into a ponytail. "We cannot go, if you do not first visit him. It is not done in proper society."
"Lizzy." Mr. Bennet admonished, and she blushed before quickly pulling up her cowl. "I will send no recommendation, give no word, that this pleasant stranger might consider my dear Lizzy, nor my Jane, and certainly not my Lydia. I see no need but neither would I offer it for dear Mary."
The eldest made as angry a sound as she could find to produce, "Mr. Bennet! How can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take such delight in vexing me! You have no compassion for my poor nerves."
"Do you not have a jar filled with crystals for such a thing? It sits upon our window sill." Mr. Bennet replied lightly, a mirth in his voice.
"Ach! You know not what I suffer!"
He smiled, "But I pray with desert rose and gypsum flower that you will always find the day, and the peace within the stone. I may add aquamarine, that some young men, with four thousand a year, might find the bravery to journey and stay to our neighbourhood."
She glared at him, "Such prayers would have no use if twenty young men were to come, for you will not visit them!"
"I swear by moon and shackle, that if twenty were then I would visit them all."
She muttered something that he sincerely hoped was not another curse.
He wasn't sure his nerves could take it were all the taps to issue blood instead of water again, and then she looked up at the moon. "I do hope that Mr. Bingley shall like this neighbourhood. A home, it might be."
© Copyright 2024, James Milne