Section I, Next Section
Chapter 1
The lecture hall slowly filled with girls. There were only a few boys among them. This was to be their first introduction to the academic world, apart from intro camp. Today they would find out if this was just like school or totally different and they were understandably a little apprehensive and nervous. They softly spoke to people they had briefly been introduced to at intro camp and sought to find a good place to sit.
A young man in an awfully striped sweater, but with a bright smile on his face, took the microphone. "Goede morgen allemaal! Vroeg hè?"
The hall began to giggle nervously, because they had no idea what he was saying and because he looked as if he had dressed badly with the purpose to amuse them all.
"Mijn naam is Charles Bingley en ik ben de coördinator van --" he continued brightly and then checked himself when his audience still showed no signs of comprehension. "Ooh! You don't understand me yet. I forgot," he said as if it was very stupid of him to have forgotten and he grinned disarmingly.
The audience fell for him en masse, even the boys -- for they were in the language department -- and they even forgave him for his pink and yellow sweater. This fellow was much cooler than the teachers at school. They hoped he would be teaching all their courses, but probably not, since there were some official-looking types in suits sitting in the first row, along with a walking Axe ad -- or was it Gillette?
But unfortunately for them, Bingley's affections were in danger of being monopolised by the blonde angel in the second row, whom he knew to be the new junior lecturer called Jane. She looked sweet and she did not laugh, but listened to him attentively, unlike the girl next to her who was making sarcastic comments, he could tell, but she was only a student. Comments about his sweater, Bingley assumed and blushed to the roots of his unruly blonde hair, looking adorably confused when he realised that those sarcastic comments were addressed to Jane. What would she think of it? He could not help it that he was not a morning person and that he sometimes made mistakes in dressing if he had not got his contact lenses in yet. "I will now hand out the timetables," he said hastily and nearly tripped over the wire of the microphone.
Fitzwilliam Darcy cringed upon hearing snickers and tried not to show it. After all, he was a respectable member of the staff. He was only twenty-eight, but nevertheless respectable and ages older than these boys and girls behind him. Honestly, ten years made a huge difference, he thought as he heard some childish giggles. Besides, he never let on that he was only twenty-eight. If they found out they might perhaps think he was to be addressed by his first name and that was the best kept secret of the whole department. He had had to bribe the secretaries not to let anybody look into his files and he signed everything as F.
"What a poopie," said the girl behind him quite audibly with regard to Charles.
Darcy shuddered. Never did he hope to receive the doubtful honour of being referred to as such and he half turned to give the girl a disapproval-conveying stare. Did she not know this was a university lecturer she was referring to? Not some -- some -- some -- pff.
"I don't get this timetable," the girl sighed.
Darcy did, but he did not offer his help. That was Bingley's job. If Bingley would ever get those timetables handed out in an orderly fashion, that was. He doubted it. Bingley was the sort of fellow who needed a lot of instruction in practical matters and Darcy could see that Charles had given the first rows far too many timetables and that he would run out of them somewhere near the middle. The moron had even given his row timetables when he could have seen that only members of the staff were sitting there.
Finally Bingley had done it and he returned to the microphone, ten minutes later because he could never refuse to answer any questions about things he would be explaining a short while later. "Umm...yes. The timetable. As I just explained to some of you -- Pronunciation. Do you see it? The times are...the times. The letters are names. Last names. I mean the first letters of your last names. A to G. So if you are in group one, your last name starts with an A. I mean the other way around. If you are in group one, no -- if your last name starts with an A, you're in group one. If your last name starts with an H, you're in group two and so on."
"He's as bright as his sweater," said Elizabeth, the girl behind Darcy, to the amusement of her neighbours.
"And then there are three letters signifying who will be teaching you. I'm BIN, but you may call me Charles. Finally, the last stuff is the place, but that's not really important."
Elizabeth, because she was called Bennet, was in group one. That meant she was not being taught by Bingley, but by a certain DAR. She had checked with some older students and she had discovered that DAR was Darcy -- no first name known -- and that he had a Reputation. The shudders and looks of pity had all pointed to that. A further inquiry told her that he was the worst teacher one could have for pronunciation, not because he was bad, but because he was awfully strict and he gave students large chunks of text to be recorded on tape at home every week with a flawless accent starting from day one. And if you could not master the pronunciation of the G in under three tries, he made you try so often that you had to buy a cough mixture for your throat.
Apart from that, he was delicious to look at and certainly better dressed than Bingley -- who had a Reputation in that area that would make the first bum on the street compare more favourably -- but this was all undone because of his behaviour.
Elizabeth had thought it would not be as bad as that. Because honestly, would he be out to teach them or to make their life miserable?
She had a bit of trouble finding the language labs, but she got there at 8:50. To her great surprise nobody was there yet except a man in his late twenties. He was wearing a suit and tie, which Elizabeth thought was just a little bit overblown, and he said nothing when she entered. Fine, then she would say nothing too.
At 9:00 sharp he began speaking. "You will find that I always start at nine o'clock. I intend to refuse entrance to those who arrive later than 9:05. If you find that your bed is more comfortable, then by all means stay in bed, but don't bother us."
He had seen on his list that there was a Bennet among them and he had heard from his new colleague Jane that her sister was a first-year student. He believed in a certain distance between him and the students and he had been cautious not to say too much to Jane, lest she repeated it to her sister.
Darcy did not believe in Bingley's casual approach and thought discipline was the key. He also did not believe in Bingley's choice of clothing, but despite that, they were good friends. But his love for discipline made him subject the class to endless repetitions of Dutch vowels. "Bad, baat." He pointed at a student, the first one in the row. This was better than having them repeat after him as a class, because then some would not participate at all.
"Baht, baht," the student repeated.
"No, bad, baat."
"Baht, baht," said the student.
"Bad, baat."
"Baat, baat."
Darcy shuddered. It was always the same with the AA. He passed over it for the time being. There were many more rounds to come, though. "Bed, beet."
"Bet, bate," the next student repeated meekly.
"Bit, biet," Darcy pointed at the next.
It was Elizabeth. "Bit, beet."
It was the girl who had sat behind him during the introductory lecture -- the sarcastic one. It was good that she did not do it correctly right away. "Not beeeeet. Biet."
"Biet," Elizabeth repeated.
Well, she was quick, he had to give her that, almost as though she had done it before. "Bod, boot."
"Bort, bote."
"Don't insert a W," Darcy corrected. "We strive for a standard pronunciation here and not for some accent used by undereducated people. Yes?" he asked when he saw that the sarcastic girl had raised her hand.
"What exactly do those words mean and how are they spelled? I think it would be more helpful to know," Elizabeth said.
Darcy disliked outspoken students who interfered with his way of teaching, especially since she was running ahead of things and he was only doing a preliminary test round to see how much they could do. "We were going to come to that in a minute," he said curtly. "Bath, benefit, bed, bite, bit, beet, bid, boat; if you don't have the patience to wait for it." That usually put them in their place.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said quite coldly. What an arrogant man he was. It would be such fun to be in his class. She was not daunted by him at all. Such arrogance always made her very rebellious.
"Bout -- bolt, bijt -- bite." Darcy pointed at the next student in the row.
"Excuse me," said Elizabeth, who was writing the words down. "This is a different bite from the other one we just had -- is that correct?"
Darcy felt as though he could throttle her. "It's very correct," he snapped. He should be happy with such a student, but he was not.
"So there are two bites?" she asked politely.
"The noun and a form of the verb. Would you please stop interrupting?"
During the break, the classes compared notes. "Charles is cool!" was the common enthusiastic reaction from those in Bingley's class. It had taken Charles fifteen minutes to write down their names, but when he had finally got them, he knew them and he all addressed them correctly. He had also been wearing two different socks, white and dark blue, and he had only had pens that did not write. But he had been awfully nice and after class they were all going for a drink.
Elizabeth wished her name began with an H. Or with a P, because those were taught by Jane and Jane was also thought cool, though not as cool as Charles. She wanted to tell Jane that Darcy was an ogre and give Jane some sympathy for having to work together with the man, but Jane had some professional deliberation with Charles going on in Charles's classroom and they had closed the door.
Chapter 2
Jane critically studied Charles's appearance. He ought to do something about those socks. Did this mean he was still free and single? Which girlfriend would let her man leave the house like this? "Umm...Charles..."
"Yes? Did your class go alright so far?"
"Your socks!" Jane blurted out finally.
"Oh, what's wrong with them?" Charles looked down. "Right. Two different ones." He tried to pull his trousers down over his shoes. "No problem. Do you think it's a problem?" he asked anxiously. "I'll take off my belt. That way my trousers are longer." He took off his belt and this indeed succeeded in obscuring his shoes from view, but it did not look very graceful to have his trousers hanging halfway down his hips.
Jane ignored her manners and belted Charles up again. Is the door closed? Yes, the door was closed. It was alright to mess about with Charles's belt. "Don't do that. The damage is done anyway. Just pay more attention next time, alright?"
"The last time someone dressed me was when I was four," Charles said in fascination.
"They shouldn't have stopped," Jane said dryly.
Darcy wondered if he was interrupting something when he barged into Charles's classroom. He had stalked down the corridor twice already and been to the toilet, but the break was not yet over and that annoying girl insisted on remaining in the classroom to read. Students should all run out immediately at the beginning of the break and then be five minutes late in coming back. He did not know what to do with such a girl. She was bound to ask him questions if he stayed like he usually did. "Your socks!" he exclaimed right away, but part of the shock in his tone was due to the fact that Miss Bennet was sitting rather amicably close to Charles.
"Yeah yeah, old news," said Charles. "Are you coming for a drink with my class, Darcy?"
Darcy looked horrified. That was absolutely out of the question. "No."
"Aww, come on. I'm not going to force beer on you again. You can get away with mineral water."
"That's not the point," Darcy said stiffly. "I just don't think lecturers and students should socialise."
"Hmm...but junior lecturers and professors should?" Charles asked innocently, referring to Darcy's rather secret alliance with Professor Bingley, commonly referred to in the department as Professor B****ley.
"That's different. We are both on the same side of the classroom. We're equals in that matter," Darcy said even more stiffly. It was not like Charles to make such comments. He was shocked. Charles should not even have noticed.
"Yeah yeah," Charles said, unconvinced, but not willing enough to press his point. After all, it concerned his sister and his friend. He doubted whether they were truly equals. He kept forgetting Professor Bingley's age even though she was his sister, because she had ordered him to forget it, but she was well over thirty, perhaps nearer to forty and Darcy was twenty-eight. Apart from that, she was Prof. Dr. and he was merely Dr.
But of course Darcy felt he was special, being singled out as Professor Bingley's toyboy. Charles did not begrudge anyone the feeling of being special. In fact, he welcomed it, since it had made Caroline a lot more palatable and Darcy too, actually. Of course there was no future in it, everyone could see that. Correction, everyone would be able to see that if they were allowed to know, which they were not.
There were several sides to the issue. Professor Bingley should not have stooped so low as to get herself a Dr. On the other hand, it was always very admirable that she had been able to get herself a young and good-looking man, no matter that he was only a Dr. She was flattered that he wanted her, no doubt.
But again, Charles questioned Darcy's motives in dating Professor Bingley -- odd how he always thought of his own sister like that and not as Caroline, he thought. He doubted that Darcy would think her angel. Jane was an angel. But Darcy would not think of his Professor like that. It was very hard for Charles to imagine that Darcy thought of her at all. When Jane would be on his mind all day, he knew that. Why, he would even put his alarm ten minutes earlier in order to look for socks with either his glasses on or his contact lenses in. Just for Jane.
Darcy would never do that. He did not have glasses or contact lenses, but if there was a similar example, Charles was sure it would not hold for Darcy. "And how's your class going?" he asked jovially, abandoning the subject of the affair. It would be useless to get anything out of Darcy anyway.
"Hmm."
"Could be better?" Charles tried a translation.
The pronunciation classes were over and Elizabeth and some of her new friends went over to the photocopying machine to copy a reader that was sold out, because Darcy had insisted that they get hold of it somehow before next week. He had grudgingly lent them his own and they had to copy it very quickly, for fear of angering him by returning it too late.
After copying, they discussed who would return the reader. "We don't even know where his room is," Elizabeth said. "Why don't we just put it in his pigeonhole?"
The other girls were shocked. "He might be upset that we don't give it back in person."
"Do we care? Give it to me," she said. "I'll get it back to him. To his room, okay?" She walked down the corridors and studied the nameplates. "Excuse me," she said when an arrogant-looking woman strode past. "I'm looking for Darcy's room. Could you tell me where it is?"
The woman gave her a contemptuous glance. "Doctor Darcy." And she walked on.
Elizabeth was baffled. The woman had not even said where she might find the room! "What a b****!" she muttered involuntarily.
"Mind your language, girl," a passing girl grinned. "You must be a first-year student. That is Professor B****ley you're talking about!"
Chapter 3
Elizabeth was not surprised that the woman's was Professor B****ley. She had not heard anything about her yet, since Professor B****ley probably did not teach first-year courses but only the specialisation ones. Of course. First-year courses were only introductions and the Professor was undoubtedly too good for that.
But now she still did not know where Darcy's room was. "I was looking for Darcy's room," she called after the girl.
"Oi, dear me. You're going to have a confrontation with Professor B****ley and with Darling Darcy in one day?" the girl said sympathetically. "No wonder so many first-year students disappear after a few weeks. It's simply too much for them."
Elizabeth grinned. "I know. I have Darcy for Pronunciation. We copied his reader and I have to give it back."
"Woooo, woooo," said the girl. "He let you have his reader? My God! What's come over the man?!"
"Do you mean he never lends it out?"
The girl came a little closer. "I'm in my fourth year and Darcy's only been here for two years, but in those two years he's never ever lent out his readers to a mere student."
"Well, I'm flattered," Elizabeth said sarcastically. "But I rather think it has more to do with the fact that he couldn't give us any homework because the readers were sold out." And homework definitely had to be assigned.
"Good luck with him anyway. His room is 111."
Elizabeth climbed the stairs and looked for 111, which was hidden in a small passage behind the stairs. It was an old building and there were many concealed passages. She would not have thought of looking for him here if she had not known his room number.
Professor B****ley came out of the room just when Elizabeth reached the door. "Dr. Darcy does not see students outside of his office hours," she snapped to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth pulled a sweet face. "Thank you. That saves me the trouble of knocking. Then I'll just keep Darcy's reader until next week."
Professor B****ley looked taken aback. "You're not allowed to keep the property of a member of the teaching staff!"
"But you just said I couldn't go in..." Elizabeth wanted to laugh at Professor B****ley's face. It was priceless. She shook her head and knocked on the door, not caring what the Professor might have to say about that.
"Come in!"
Elizabeth opened the door and found Darcy typing frantically. Somehow she had thought that he would have a typist or a student to type for him. But he did not see students outside his office hours, she recalled and grinned. "Your reader."
Why this had to be returned with a grin, Darcy did not know. He took it with distrust. The girl was laughing at him, but he did not know what for.
"Forgive me for ignoring Professor B****ley," Elizabeth said innocently. She did not know the woman's real name, did she? "Is that really her name? She said I couldn't go in because you wouldn't see me, but I thought you might be rather fond of your reader because you insisted that we return it right away."
Darcy slowly coloured. "Professor who?" He could not have heard that correctly.
"It's wrong? That's not her name?" Elizabeth asked anxiously. "Another student told me her name was Professor B****ley. It did sound a little odd to me," she smiled apologetically. "I'm glad it's not really her name. I would have pitied her."
"Which student was that?" Darcy barked. If there was one, there would be more, Darcy suspected, and he could say that they were not far off the mark. Caroline could be hellish, but the students had absolutely no right to call her that.
"I have no idea. I'm new here."
"The Professor's name is Bingley," he said coldly, wondering if she had been stupid enough to believe that student or if she was just being extremely impertinent.
"Like Charles?" Elizabeth was shocked. They could not be related. She would have believed it right away if Darcy had said that the woman was his older sister Professor Darcy. No, that she was a Bingley had to be a coincidence.
"Yes, like Charles," he snapped, although he could understand her shock. Charles and Caroline were nothing like each other. In fact, most people did not even know they were related. Still, it was very impertinent to speak about Caroline like that, he reminded himself and pulled a disapproving face. She should be treated with respect. Darcy resumed his typing to signify that he had no more time for her.
Elizabeth was glad to leave. Maybe she had gone too far. She cringed a little when Professor Bingley was still waiting in the passage. How much had she heard? Elizabeth lifted her chin and thought she deserved to have heard all of it. In passing she took in the Professor's long orange-ish skirt and wondered if it was some sort of requirement to be dressed in orange if one headed the Dutch department. Or maybe it was done to attract attention.
But the Professor said nothing, because she was talking to a man with a beer belly who was apparently trying to get permission for a trip to a conference in Flanders. "No," said the Professor. "You only want to go for the beer and besides, our university is already going to be represented there by Richard. Flemish isn't even your field."
"But the Middle Ages are and --" said the man, who had been conducting numerous researches into the mentioning of food and drink in medieval literature.
"The budget doesn't allow it," the Professor decreed. Besides, if both Richard and Hurst were gone it would fall to her to take over the Importance of the Abundance of Beer for the Production of Medieval Literature course that Hurst had managed to squeeze through the committee last year. She still kicked herself for having been ill that day -- he would not have got away with it if she had been there. And Professor Bingley did not drink beer, know any beer names, or find them at all important enough to be studied. And she most certainly was not going to fill in for Hurst.
"Caroline!" A woman came skipping down the hall. "I managed to get something published."
"Dear Louisa!" the Professor said in a sugary tone. "You must be awfully happy. That reminds me -- I was working on an article." The Professor was a proficient writer of articles, because she had enough time for that, usually bullying the other members of the staff into taking over some of the courses she taught. But Darcy -- interesting man that he was -- had refused to be bullied just now and he had refused to step in for her this afternoon just when she was on the verge of reaching a very important conclusion. While he was terribly annoying, he was also terribly attractive and it was quite an interesting thing to have him contradict her for once. She knew she could get him to do it if she tried harder, but then he would not have agreed to dinner, perhaps. It was one way or the other.
Chapter 4
When the porter kicked them out of their offices because the building was closing, Darcy and Professor B****ley could finally go to dinner. If Darcy had had the audacity to inquire after Caroline's age, he might have been shocked, but as it was he could only guess and this guess was not too high to associate with her.
It was their ambition and their discipline that had attracted them to each other and of course the fact that they were both good-looking. And as Darcy well knew, also the fact that he was the most promising young thing that had ever entered Caroline's department, because she could of course never settle for anyone who was any less than herself. They were the same -- they understood each other.
But it was a pity that that one impertinent student was plaguing him all the time. That happened nowadays when students addressed their lecturers by their first names -- they took too many liberties with them. However, there was something about the girl that forbade him to dislike her, which was even more annoying.
And she was Jane's sister, he knew. He liked Jane, because she was not going to give anyone in the department any trouble -- no snide remarks, no gossip. Except that perhaps she liked Charles too much. He would advise Charles against getting involved with a woman from within the department. It was rather difficult to conceal it, because there were always students who had to see Charles. That was the downside of sharing a room with Charles. He made appointments with everybody and invited them all to come to his room, but he never thought about whether Darcy liked this. He never considered whether Darcy might actually be turned on by a snarl from Professor B****ley, rather than turned off, and he would always stay in the room to prevent his friend from being snarled at, not knowing that his sister was snarling because she had not found Darcy alone.
It was, Darcy reflected, a difficult situation.
For Darcy's tutor group meeting the next day only one student showed up -- Elizabeth -- and he had been in a good mood due to certain events that had taken place the night before. He had had a lovely dinner. But perhaps this was about to spoil it all. "Where's the rest?" he asked.
She could say she did not know or she could tell the truth, that nobody had looked forward to chatting with Darcy. "Do you want the truth?"
"Yes. That would be nice."
"They're afraid of you," Elizabeth said candidly. "Because you're strict. They'd rather be with Charles because he takes them out to the pub."
"This is supposed to be a constructive chat," Darcy protested. "I can't do that in a pub and I'm certainly not going to follow his example." No way was he going to take a single female student out to a pub, not even for the purpose of a tutor meeting. He shifted his papers. "What do you expect from your studies?"
"I hope to study in the Netherlands for a while to meet a tall blonde fellow on clogs there and live with him in a cute little house behind a dike."
"Is studying really required for that objective?" Darcy inquired, not sure if he could take this answer seriously. Besides, his male ego was a little bit injured by the fact that she preferred blonde men when his hair was dark. And where were her aspirations to academic fame? One did not study to marry a Dutch farmer -- one studied to make a name for oneself and to make important scientific and theoretical discoveries.
"Yes. That's partly to please my mother, although she would have preferred me to study medicine. She agreed to my studying Dutch if I attended medical parties, though." In fact, Mrs Bennet had not approved at all that her two eldest daughters had chosen not to study medicine or law.
"Medical parties?" Darcy was sceptic.
"Yes." Elizabeth gave him a sunny smile. "But I've been told you're Dr. Darcy and I think my mother wouldn't know the difference."
Darcy could not return that sunny smile. He managed a frown. "Well, if you have nothing constructive to say or to ask, Elizabeth, I suggest that you go home and study."
Elizabeth nodded. "I was dying to do that. Thank you."
When Elizabeth was gone, Charles appeared. "Ooohh I'm in love," he sighed.
"Really?" asked Darcy under his breath. It happened at least twice a month. "With whom, I wonder?" But he did not really have to ask. It would be Jane.
"Jane!"
"Really? That's not obvious at all, Charles."
"No?"
"No."
Charles sighed sadly. "So she might not have noticed, you think?" Perhaps he would have to show his feelings a little more. Perhaps he had inherited some of that coldness that Caroline had. No one would ever be able to tell if Caroline was in love, assuming that it was possible.
"Unless she's particularly dense, well -- and she wouldn't be working at a university in that case. I think there might be a remote chance that she hasn't noticed, but it's as remote as her still being the one you sigh over next month." Darcy had very little faith in that, for he had known Charles for a while.
Charles looked offended. "Darcy! You don't take my feelings of love very seriously," he cried. "I am seriously in love!"
Caroline chose to enter at that moment and she looked at Charles in disgust. "Good grief, Charles," she hissed. "One can hear you in the hall and people will think you're declaring your love to Darcy. This is not a subject two lecturers should be talking about! You are already under suspicion for being men in a language department. Must you perpetuate their suspicions?"
"Isn't it safer for you if people thought Darcy was gay?" Charles asked shrewdly. Someone should tell elder sisters that they had to be nice to their younger brothers or they would be punished for it. He was in love, he had dressed with care and he felt strong enough to strike back.
Chapter 5
Elizabeth had settled into university life quite well, except that she now had a kind of stalker called William Collins who wished to copy her notes at the most inconvenient moments one could possibly imagine. He had first tried to get acquainted with Jane, but he had eventually -- though three weeks later than the other students -- understood that she was more interested in Charles. He had also tried to ingratiate himself to other lecturers, but they were not all as nice as Jane and generally ignored him.
However, he was one of those people who desperately craved a connection to someone important and if he could not get it directly, he would get it another way. Elizabeth was the sister of one of the lecturers and that was as close as he could get.
After two days Elizabeth was heartily sick of him. He was so thick-skinned that he did not understand her words and her flimsy excuses that she had a bus to catch when she was standing right beside her bike, but he kept going on about her notes and asking her if she could explain some stuff to him.
She had made a friend called Charlotte who thought she was being too hard on William and who was always trying to excuse Elizabeth's excuses. Elizabeth did not see why, because William was hardly an attractive sort of boy.
If William got to hear that Charles sometimes had dinner at their house, he would attach himself to Elizabeth with a rope and consequently Elizabeth did not tell him. And she did not mean her and Jane's house in town, but the real parental home in another town.
Actually, she had not told anyone, because then she would also have to tell how her mother had been embarrassing, suggesting that Charles, Jane and Elizabeth go out on a double date with a friend of Charles'.
Mrs Bennet had been to the open day and she had seen some very handsome men there. Her memory was never faulty if it concerned handsome men. Unfortunately she had not come close enough to the men to read their name tags, but she remembered their existence very well. Being colleagues of Charles and Jane, they had to be friends of theirs too and she did not see why they could not invite one and take Elizabeth along with them as well.
Elizabeth had cringed and hoped Charles would not spread the news around the department that the hunting season for single bachelors was now opened, because she had absolutely no intention of hunting. She had not even been to the first party of the students' association, not thinking that it could be fun, because she had quickly come to realise that most of the male students in the department were rather weird and an all-girls party was just as weird.
She was no longer being taught by Darcy and that was a relief. He had assigned about four times more homework as the other lecturers, which admittedly had given his class the best pronunciation of all classes, but since they never compared, it did not occur to anybody to think about that. Sometimes she saw him in the halls, but he never said anything. He was always staring at her as if she was out of place there.
Darcy for his part regretted that the Pronunciation course had ended. He had come to have a favourable opinion of Elizabeth. Not only was she a bright student, but she was also quite pretty. Caroline had called her impertinent and a disgrace to the university, because she had once been disturbed by far too loud giggling right outside her door. But that did not mean that she was not quite pretty, Darcy thought, although he had not voiced this to Caroline. One did not call other women pretty in Caroline's presence.
Besides, he did not really think it if he never spoke it and that was a comforting thought. Because what was he to do with the idea that other women -- girls -- might also be pretty when he had always been of the opinion that Caroline was the only one he could find sort of attractive. Darcy always saw too many imperfections and he saw imperfections in Elizabeth too, but in some way she made him forget those. Frankly he had never understood Charles, who thought everyone was beautiful. Or Hurst, who thought that Louisa was pretty, when she reminded everyone of a chicken and the only reason that she was here was that the Bingleys had lived in the Netherlands when they were young and they were the only people who had wanted to work in the department. Apart from the ones who were related to Darcy, which was the other half.
The whole department hung on nepotism. Was Mrs De Bourgh, teaching Dutch Literature in the Golden Age, not his aunt? And Richard, specialist in Flemish, not his cousin? Darcy could not even identify them all, but he had several cousins called Anne who were in some way part of the department. And then there were some Annes who were not cousins, to make it even more complicated.
It was rumoured that the now deceased Professor Sir Lewis De B****** had liked the name and that every member of staff had named their babies after either Professor Sir Lewis himself or Anne, in order to get promotion and all those babies had now come back to the department as some sort of revenge. Professor Sir Lewis himself had married his research assistant and Darcy felt completely justified in his affair with Professor B****ley. Niets nieuws onder de zon, Darcy said to himself. There was nothing new under the sun.
Not even that Richard should attempt to ingratiate himself to Caroline in pursuit of funding for his much needed -- according to him -- research on the development of Flemish personal pronouns. Such flattering happened all the time, Darcy thought with a shrug as he observed the three vases of flowers that graced Caroline's office. Except that most members of staff were not so bloody obvious about it. "Nice flowers," he remarked.
"Flowers?" Caroline frowned. "Oh, the things in the vases. They're in the way. Please take them if you like them."
"His campaign is not going to work, then?"
"Whose? What?"
Darcy picked out a small card from between the flowers. "Caroline my flower, 20000 will make me the happiest man on earth," he read out loud and snickered.
"Who writes that?"
"Richard."
"I'm getting sick of him. He's not going to stop until I give him 20000 and I don't have 20000. I told him so, but he said his research was really important and that I knew that and that I shouldn't be playing with him so much or he would reveal my age!" Caroline looked horrified. "How could he know my age? Nobody knows my age! Not even you!"
"How old are you?" Darcy asked curiously.
"If you start asking, you're out!" she warned him. "How does Richard know? He said I didn't look it, so he knows. I don't tolerate blackmail! You get him off this notion, do you hear? If you can't, we're just going to have to ditch the Flemish thing altogether to get rid of him. Tineke is going to be seriously upset if we do, but I'd rather face her than have Richard make my age public knowledge."
Darcy quickly left the room, because he had to laugh. There was something funny about Caroline and Richard fighting some trench war about her age, something nobody would probably be interested in except he himself.
Elizabeth saw him walk past and turned her head in amazement. Darcy had a sense of humour?
Chapter 6
One would not have suspected him of it, but Darcy was an avid eavesdropper -- an unconscious eavesdropper, in the disguise of someone who was totally and devoutly against listening to other people's gossip. If confronted with this, he would have vehemently denied it, but it was a fact that Darcy had good hearing and that people around him spoke loudly. It was not gossip -- it was unfortunately overheard nonsense.
It was during one of Darcy's sparse breaks that he overheard some interesting news. At a party, William Collins -- who should never be allowed to be a research assistant in the Dutch department because he was not good-looking enough and they had to preserve their status within the university -- had apparently attempted to kiss Elizabeth. Just as Darcy was rejoicing over the fact that the operative word here had been attempted, he heard some more which really made him glance at his strawberry muffin with a nauseated expression. He disliked strawberry muffins as it was, but strawberry muffins with the flavour, smell and colour of the latest revelation were impossible to even prick a fork in.
Elizabeth had kissed the nearest guy to get away from William Collins.
This in itself was perfectly understandable. Darcy himself might consider kissing the nearest guy to get away from William Collins and he would get away with doing so too, being under the inevitable suspicion that hovered around all males in a language department, as Caroline had so astutely pointed out.
But that was not the point.
The point was that Darcy felt physically ill upon hearing that William Collins had attempted -- how far had he got -- to kiss Elizabeth. Even Darcy's coffee was now rendered undrinkable.
And that Elizabeth had then kissed a random guy.
This was incredible! A random guy! Who knew if he might not be worse than William Collins? If this had been at a Dutch students' party, the random guy might well have been worse than William Collins. He might even have had a jealous boyfriend who had threatened to beat Elizabeth up.
Darcy left his muffin and coffee, which were then quickly consumed by William Collins, who was that sort of guy.
Darcy decided to find help in his cousin's office, because Bingley was more and more otherwise engaged lately. Richard was doing research for his course on the image of colonels in Flemish literature, having expanded the field so as to also include subtitles on television because of an alarming lack of colonels in written Flemish prose. He was watching a video and jotting down the instances of colonelesque apparitions and their significance for the whole plot line. It did not seem to Darcy that this was important work and he felt that he could easily interrupt Richard.
"Hush!" said Richard, intent on looking at a colonel. He pressed the pause button and the colonel gaped at them with his mouth open.
"I just heard something distressing." What was more distressing was that he found it distressing, because Elizabeth was merely a student. What did he care about students, impertinent ones at that, when he had Professor B****ley at his disposal? To be correct, Darcy was wholly at Professor B****ley's disposal, but men always liked to think otherwise.
"It can't be as bad as Caroline's continuous no and she's not even bending to my threats about revealing her age."
"How old is she?" Darcy asked curiously. He wished that colonel would shut his mouth, but that would never happen, because the video was on pause. It was better just to look away.
"Count her wrinkles and you've got her age," Richard grinned. "I can't believe you don't know how old she is! But I'm not going to tell you. It's too good for blackmailing. Did she ever give you money?"
Did Caroline have wrinkles? Darcy had never noticed any. And of course he had received funding, but then his subjects were always of the utmost importance. "Yes, but I have to say that my subject was not as uninteresting as --"
"Do only handsome men get money in this department?" Richard asked suspiciously. "It struck me before that the men in our department are above average where looks are concerned. Maybe it is all some sinister plot of Caroline's only to stimulate handsome men's research. Darcy, would you say I qualify?" He smoothed down his hair and pulled his shirt straight. Darcy could answer what he liked, but Richard actually knew that he was not bad-looking, so maybe that was the way to money -- wooing Caroline and her purse. His boss Tineke would frown upon it, he was sure, but until Tineke was the one with the bags of money, Tineke would have to accept it. Now if he struck a nice deal with Tineke and gave her some too, she would be pacified, because according to Richard's new theory, Tineke would not be receiving any money either since she was not a handsome man.
"I came here to feel better, but you're only making me feel more ill," said Darcy. Elizabeth kissing random guys and Richard going to parade as a handsome man. "Disgusting. And what was that about her wrinkles? I never noticed any wrinkles."
"A woman her age has got to have wrinkles. Zoekt en gij zult vinden," Richard spoke solemnly. "Seek and ye shall find."
Chapter 7
Random guys are never random. That was what someone ought to tell Darcy if Darcy had only told someone what was troubling him. Darcy perhaps saw kissing a random guy as the same sort of process as multiplying a random number by six -- possible, productive and painless with any input. In fact, as truly random.
Poor Darcy. This was not the case.
If the process had truly been random, it followed that Elizabeth would have allowed William Collins to kiss her, because -- well, in all honesty, because he was a random guy and if you kiss one, why not another?
And so the process had not been completely random, but had actually involved a slight mental activity. Contrary to Darcy's belief -- what did that make one think about his personal history? -- girls and women generally do not kiss random guys, for fear of hitting on an undeserving one, because the risk of that is far greater than the random guys themselves believe.
That implied that Elizabeth had made a conscious choice. When she felt herself on the verge of kissing a random guy, self-preservation had kicked in and she had opted for a good-looking one. And that made that he had not been random at all.
It had been George Wickham, **ick 'em, *ick 'em and *ick 'em.
Whether or not this ought to reassure Darcy remains to be seen.
George Wickham was twenty-seven and a student of Business -- this year. There was no telling which faculty he would frequent next year. Since he had been around for so long and since he had attempted so many programmes, he knew his way around the student party scene and he had decided that this year he would tap the fresh supply of girls in the Department of Dutch. The last time he had done so was at least five years ago, so all of his former conquests would long be graduated and hopefully gone.
When a pretty girl had kissed him, he had been mildly surprised, but on the whole he could understand her motivations rather well. He was George Wickham, **ick 'em, *ick 'em and *ick 'em, which implied that his choice of admirers was so large as to include nearly all girls. There were but a few -- nerds, as George called them -- who did not look at him if he passed, but they would be at home cramming for next year's exams.
George had seen he stood a chance with the girl, because she was obviously running away from a creep and he had talked to her all night. Talking was something he was good at and despite his failed exams in various subjects, he had picked up some funny classroom anecdotes all the same. It was enough to keep a girl amused for a few hours.
She had told him about the Dreadful Darcy and he had actually known that guy. He could tell her something about Darcy too.
"I'll see you home," he had said, but this proved to be a disappointment. Elizabeth claimed she did not need an escort, politely and with a smile, but very insistently.
Despite his offer, Elizabeth liked George all the same. She had seen him once after the party, when she had run into him in the academic bookstore and they had spent an agreeable fifteen minutes in the queue.
She was glad he had taken the kiss so well, because it was not her style to kiss an unknown person at a vague party. Her style was more along the lines of remaining friends with everyone who did not have it all and being friends did not involve any kissing. George looked as though he might have more than most, but still she could not be certain that he had it all. That would take time. And certainly not more kisses, because to be truthful she was not wild about them.
People had seen her kiss George and for a few days she was the talk of the Department. She shrugged and let them talk. Eventually it died down and only her friend Charlotte referred to the incident.
"Do you have something going with him now?" Charlotte asked when she had seen Elizabeth talk to George. They were on their way to a class.
Elizabeth did not understand Charlotte. "It was to get away from William!"
"Yes, but...George seems to like you. Why don't you go out with him?" Charlotte did not understand Elizabeth.
"I don't mean to sound stuck up or anything," Elizabeth mumbled. "And I don't know whether I have a right to say this -- you know what grade I got for Vocab -- but I have the feeling he's not as smart as I am. Do you know what I mean?" Of course Charlotte had to know what she meant -- George was twenty-seven and he was still in his first year.
"But he's cute."
"I know, but cute is not enough. Cute is not forbidden, but it gets boring if it's vacant cuteness. Men should ideally be cute and smart," Elizabeth said as they walked through the corridor. Darcy came out of a room and gave them a brief stare before he walked on ahead of them. She should not give Darcy the idea that he was desirable just because he was cute and probably smart. "And nice," she added loudly for his benefit. "That's important too. And funny." No one had ever laughed because of something Darcy had said. Had he heard? "And cuteness is the least important of the four!"
Darcy, who generally thought too much, thought that the random guy had to be really smart, nice and funny. Elizabeth had sounded pretty convincing. Why did he care anyway, he asked himself as he caught himself staring. He had to be at least ten years older, but she had such pretty eyes that laughed all the time.
He wanted to jump the queue and pull rank at the photocopier, but the girl whose turn it was said she was copying for Professor Bingley. He could have known Caroline would not do such menial tasks herself. If he now insisted on going first, Caroline would give him hell and he wanted to avoid that.
As Darcy waited for his turn, he saw Caroline and Richard come down the corridor and Richard was carrying Caroline's bag.
"We have a meeting," Richard said officially. "Counted yet?" he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice when he passed Darcy.
If there was not a girl at the copying machine, Darcy would have said something nasty to his cousin. The nerve to refer to Caroline's wrinkles in front of Caroline and a student! Richard had to be insane to attempt it. It shocked Darcy into muteness.
"I did," Richard said over his shoulder.
Chapter 8
Darcy stood gaping after Richard and Caroline and could not believe what he thought he had heard. Richard had counted Caroline's wrinkles? But how? How had he done that?
"Your turn," said the girl and grabbed her things.
Darcy advanced towards the photocopier, blindly placed the book onto the glass and tried to insert the copy card into the machine. It would not work. He tried again.
"Darcy!" a voice said behind him.
It sounded like Elizabeth, but she would never call his name. No, she would only comment on the fact that the bloody copy card would not go into the machine and laugh at it. He turned and saw it was Jane. No wonder.
"There's a little arrow on the card to show you which side you should stick in first," said Jane.
As if he did not know that, Darcy thought, but then realised that it was not enough to know it. One had to put this knowledge into practise as well. Sheepishly he studied the card and saw that he had been trying to use it upside down. They were particular things, those cards. They refused to be used upside down or backwards. "Thanks," he murmured, aware of an almost unnoticeable warmth spreading over his cheeks. He was just brilliant.
"Are you alright?" Jane asked in concern.
"Yes."
"You don't look alright. Is something the matter?"
"What is Richard doing?"
"Richard?" Jane looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Darcy did not dare to voice his real worries, which had a lot to do with Richard stealing his woman. "I saw him carrying Caroline's bag."
"Oh, that's just because Caroline has given him a huge grant. He's happy."
So happy he would carry Caroline's bag after he had got the grant? That was odd. It did not really make sense. Darcy abandoned his copying and went after them. There was more to this than just happiness.
"I'm so happy I could kiss you," Richard announced to Caroline. "I knew you'd bend."
"I don't like the methods you employed. I disapprove of blackmail," Caroline said stiffly. She had had to give in and she did not like it.
"Your age, darling, is hardly going to be the most shocking revelation of the year." Anyone could come up with a rough guess, given the number of years she had been working here.
"I know you're pleased, but do you really have to behave as if our relationship is not strictly professional?" she asked irritably. "Cut it out."
He held a door open for her and let her pass. "You'd think that women who got themselves a young lover would take an exciting one."
Caroline glared at him. "What are you implying?"
"Oh, nothing," Richard said innocently. "I don't know your age. I don't know anything about you and my cousin and I certainly wouldn't know if he's dull when you two are alone, but I had been reasoning very logically and come to the conclusion that a woman with a younger lover must also be willing to flirt with other men, because she likes excitement. Do you know what I mean?"
Caroline pressed her lips together. "No, I don't know what you mean."
"That's a pity," Richard said regretfully. He was resolved to keep trying. She was witty enough on other occasions and he knew she had to be an excellent flirt if she put her mind to it. "Just remember if you change your mind that I'm always willing to flirt with beautiful women, alright?"
Caroline hated that she was flattered by his appreciative smile. She quickly looked away. He was insufferable.
Jane shook her head and put Darcy's copy card and book aside. This department was a veritable lunatic asylum at times. If only her mother knew that, but as it was, her mother thought Jane had got a top job in a well-run organisation with well-behaved and intelligent people. It was not as glamorous as that, Jane thought. The number of times that Louisa's exams got lost and ended up in places like Hurst's golf bags was much larger than should be allowed. Not to mention the numerous misunderstandings involving three or more Annes. Come to think of it, she had to see one of the Annes because Elizabeth had been assigned to one of her groups and she would rather not teach Elizabeth. Maybe Darcy would take her.
Darcy felt queasy. He could not find Caroline and Richard and on top of it all, there was Jane asking him if he wanted to have Elizabeth in his group. Could he say no? No, he could not do that without Jane asking any questions, so he said yes.
What were Caroline and Richard doing? They had a meeting. But he did not trust his cousin at all. There were as many students in love with Richard as there were with Charles, so obviously Richard had some degree of attractiveness. What would Caroline think of that? Caroline would do exactly as she pleased, but it was hard to tell what that would be. He only knew that he had better not bring the subject up with her.
Chapter 9
Darcy had been playing squash with a friend and they had spent a little too long in the bar to catch up, so it was rather late when he left to go home. The squash centre was on the other side of town and it was quite a long ride. As he came out of the park he saw a girl with a flat tyre. She seemed to be hesitating whether to go through the park or not. Darcy would not advise it. He had seem some drunken youths in the park and he did not know what they might do. And this girl was Elizabeth. He stopped his bike beside her. "Don't go through the park."
Elizabeth, who had first thought he was a stranger with untrustworthy motives, looked surprised. "Why not? I have to -- I live on that side of town."
"Can't you go around?"
She wondered why Darcy would care. "No. I'll be home in the morning if I have to walk all the way around it. And my lecturer disapproves of yawning students in class." Darcy would be lecturing her at 9 a.m.
That was true, Darcy acknowledged silently, but she might be mugged or raped if she went through the park. He did not know if it was that bad nowadays, but it was better not to take any risks. "If you insist, I insist on accompanying you," he said.
A gallant Darcy stunned Elizabeth so much that she could not reply.
"Do you want to keep this wreck?" Darcy eyed the bike distastefully. "Do you want to take it home?"
She knew it would take longer if they had to walk, but what else was he going to propose? "That's the only one I have," she said defensively. "Look, I don't earn as much as you do. It's all I can afford and good ones get stolen right away anyway."
"Leave it here."
"I can't come to class if I don't have a bike."
"Did you want to fix that bike in the middle of the night? You won't have any time for it anyway."
He was right. Or else she would be yawning in class. "Okay..." Elizabeth sighed.
"Hop on."
"You don't seriously mean that."
"Yes, I do."
Elizabeth locked her bike, placed against a tree and sat on the back of Darcy's bike, trying to imagine what she would tell her friends in the morning. It was absolutely surreal! And why was he going back in the direction he had come from just to see her home? She had to grab his sweater when there was some unevenness in the road, but that did not help much, so she curled her fingers around his belt. Her friends would die if they heard she had actually been touching Darcy's belt. "Ouch!" she yelled when he made a too sharp turn past a little pole.
Darcy braked. "Was that your knee?"
"Yes, that was my knee," Elizabeth said through clenched teeth. It was going to be blue. She had had to jump off the bike when he stopped and she was now hopping around on one leg.
"Does it hurt?"
"Hmm...no, it's okay."
They continued. She could feel his abdominal muscles at work as he pedalled. As she was sitting there she could notice lots more about him. "How do you know where I live?" Elizabeth asked curiously when she realised he had not once asked her for directions.
"I know where Jane lives," Darcy answered. He had only barely got away there. "Don't you live with her?"
"Yes. Did she tell you that?"
"She must have." She might have done that, but Darcy had all those lists with students' addresses that came in handy. It would not do to say he looked at them. He stopped in front of her house.
Elizabeth jumped off. "Thank you."
"I'll wait until you are inside."
He seemed adamant, so Elizabeth did not protest. She fumbled in her coat for her keys, tried the key and discovered that it did not fit. Why not? Was she demented or was this not the front door key? She was obviously demented. Well, there was nothing she could do. "My key doesn't fit," she called to Darcy, knowing he would think she was demented too.
"Try the right one," he called back.
"I am!" Elizabeth tried them all.
"And this is the right house?" Darcy parked his bicycle and walked over. "Give me your keys."
"I just tried them! Don't you believe me?"
"You wouldn't be the first woman who can't open a door," he remarked. "No, it seems you were right. None of them fits. How come?"
"Jane must have changed the lock."
"Without telling you about it?" he asked sceptically and rang the bell. He saw a note stuck behind it and unfolded it. "She changed the lock because some children had put chewing gum in it. She thought you'd be back before eleven --"
"I was going to! But I had a flat tyre," Elizabeth said quickly.
"Jane is with Charles. You can pick up a key there."
"He lives on the other side of town" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I've just come from there. It's going to take me three hours to walk back and forth. By bike it might only be forty-five minutes. What am I going to do?"
"I suggest we ride back to the other side of town and think about it," Darcy said. "I can give you a lift there, because I have to go in that direction anyway."
"You suggest that I stay with Charles too? Because how on earth am I going to get back here? You won't allow me to go through the park unescorted and I'd have to go through the park. I'd be busy until morning thanks to Jane. I hate sisters," Elizabeth said angrily. She could cry in frustration.
Yes, they had a problem, Darcy realised. He was not looking forward to riding Elizabeth back and forth either. It was midnight. Before they were back here it would be a quarter to one and before he was home it would be a quarter past one and before he was in bed it would be a quarter to two. And he had to get up at seven. What if he took Elizabeth home? He could be in bed at least an hour earlier. "You can come home with me."
Chapter 10
Elizabeth's natural curiosity won out over her dislike of Darcy. It was incredible that he would offer a homeless student that she could come home with him. At her request, he even repeated what he had said. Yes, she had really heard him correctly. Distant Darcy was inviting a mere first-year student over. It was so bizarre that it was hilarious and so incredible that it was more than worth experiencing it. Maybe he was human. Or he had a goldfish.
It unnerved Darcy that she was giggling, but he stuck to his -- what he considered to be a very gallant -- offer. He could not leave a young girl out in the cold. What age was she? He guessed it was something like nineteen, but it seemed to him that nine years ago the girls had been much more mature. They seemed to be getting younger all the time nowadays.
Actually, it had a certain something to be ridden through a dark town by a man, Elizabeth thought. And it was good that it was dark. What if some fellow student spotted them? Perhaps it was better not to hold on to his saddle if he was sitting on it and she moved her hands back to his waist because he was going too fast to sit without holding on to something.
Darcy was the type to live on the second floor of a modern block of flats. At least, that was how Elizabeth had categorised him, but that turned out to be wrong. He lived over a shop. "How many bedrooms does Charles have?" she asked after he had locked his bicycle.
"One."
"So me and Jane and Charles would all be sleeping in the same room?"
"Probably." That was a stupid answer, Darcy told himself, since there was nothing probable about it. They would all be sleeping in the same room, period.
"So, I'm not really sure I understood what you meant about me coming home with you. Did you mean I can sleep here, or what?"
"We can arrange something if you need a place to sleep," Darcy said a little indifferently. He had to be careful with this one. If the girl went to the complaints committee, he would be dead and Caroline would do some other mean stuff to him as well. One should not underestimate Caroline. It was to be hoped that Elizabeth did not tell Caroline about this in that impertinent way of hers. He could just imagine the sort of tone and expression she would use and Caroline would jump out of her skin.
"That's enormously kind of you, Dr Darcy." It was fairly common to have hosts say their guests could call them by their first names and perhaps after having been let in on the department's second best secret -- the inside of Darcy's home -- Elizabeth would be let on in the major secret -- Darcy's first name. But it was not to be. He remained as mysteriously effy as ever, with only an F to hint at the undoubtedly hideous stigma he bore for a first name.
"You're welcome." Darcy was too preoccupied to notice what she called him. He was wondering where to put her. It was not as if he had a special bed for visiting students, the way students had mattresses for visiting fellow students. His guests -- did he ever have any? -- usually stayed in a hotel -- or in his bed.
Perhaps this had not been as good an idea as the sort of ideas he was renowned for. This had been a rather bingleyish sort of idea. Bingley would invite hundreds of people only to find out he could put up two at the very most. And Darcy did not have Bingley's standards. In his view, a person could only sleep in a bed and not on the floor or wherever Bingley was wont to stow people. Half the tramps in town were probably disillusioned guests of Bingley's who had been turned away because they simply did not fit into the flat anymore.
He turned the key in the lock and the first thing he saw was Caroline. She was standing in the hall for some unclear reason.
"Hello?" she said in a slightly accusing voice.
Darcy cringed. He never should have given Caroline a key. How could he have forgotten that she would be here? "I found one of my students out in the streets and she has no place to sleep."
Caroline was a quick thinker. "I see. And that's why you took her here -- to hand her over to a female member of the staff. That's very proper thinking, Darcy. I applaud it." She turned her stern gaze to Elizabeth. "Let's go then." She was definitely not going to allow Darcy to have a student stay the night, however innocent this might be and however much she valued her privacy. She would take the girl and put her up for the night.
Darcy knew when he should not argue and said nothing.
Elizabeth had accomplished her goal -- getting inside Darcy's home and had no objections to leaving. In fact, this was a very welcome turn of events since she really had no desire to be spending the night under the same roof as a young bachelor who was neither her boyfriend nor a friend of hers. At least she would only have to fear Professor Bingley's tongue and nothing else about her. What was Professor Bingley doing here anyway? She must have a key. The thought of Professor B****ley sneaking up on her staff to check whom they brought home was too amusing and Elizabeth snorted. She was finding this funnier by the second. It was completely bizarre to be inside the homes of the two most despised and feared members of the teaching staff on one night and in such a way too! Elizabeth was all for going with Professor B****ley.
"Well..." said the Professor demandingly when they were in the car. "Tell me how you picked up Darcy."
Elizabeth ignored the implication that it had been her. She was glad that the Professor had at least got a car. Another bike ride would really make her behind look blue. "I had a flat tyre and he offered to escort me through the park."
Professor Bingley did not reply until she had turned around a corner. "To his house or to yours?" She sounded as if she knew the answer.
"To mine, but my sister is with Bingley and the lock was changed. Anyway, I couldn't get in and I'd have to come back to this side of town anyway to get the key or spend the night at Bingley's place."
Caroline could understand why someone would not want to spend the night at Bingley's place. "And Darcy offered his services -- or his bed."
"I would not take his bed even if it was offered and he was not in it," Elizabeth said with dignity. "I'm not that kind of girl." But she had been curious about his home, just like she was curious about Professor B****ley's home right now.
Professor Bingley seemed to reflect on that answer. "Would you even not take it if he had changed the sheets? And the mattress? Because that really changes the matter." But then she seemed to realise she was going off on a tangent. "That was not relevant. It's very good that you're not that kind of girl." At the girl's age, certainly. Things would change once she reached her own age.
"I mean, Darcy is probably thirty!"
Then what did that make her if this made Darcy the subject of such an exclamation? Caroline shuddered imperceptibly. "I don't see why you're surprised. It takes a person quite a few years to reach his position," she snapped.
"And even more years to reach yours?" Elizabeth asked impertinently, hinting at the Professor's more senior position and what this must mean for her age.
"Not that many, since I'm a woman. There is a reason for why there are much more girls in the department than there are boys," Caroline went off on her favourite tangent. "It's because women are naturally better at languages than men. Now, we all know that women are better at organising and leading as well, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that an ambitious woman should reach the senior position in a language department much quicker than a man, because of his lesser linguistic abilities and of course his complete inability to view matters from more than one side." Also, the man she had in mind did not have any ambitions, as far as she was concerned.
This made Elizabeth laugh. "It does help that the boys in the department are rather weak. They probably stay weak when they grow up to be men."
"You shan't be able to lure me into any statements about the men in the department. You are only a student. What was Darcy thinking?"
"He's a man. Can he think?" Elizabeth asked a question Professor Female Supremacist would probably consider rhetorical.
"You are only a student. You're not in a position to ask such questions," Caroline said a little snappily. The girl was making fun of both her and Darcy.
Chapter 11
The Professor's house was all glass, white and silver, Elizabeth noticed in the morning when she tried to locate her hostess, who had woken her up at nine. Darcy's lecture had already started by now. Did Professor B****ley actually know about that?
She was in the kitchen. It was a little better than the living room, which looked as though it was never lived in. And she was eating a bowl of cereal with a copied article in front of her. There was also a bowl for Elizabeth, who decided to help herself.
"I had a class at nine," she said after she had filled her bowl. It was now a quarter past nine.
"I know," said Professor Bingley. "Darcy's."
"Yet you woke me at nine."
"I won't let Darcy interfere with my schedule. I always get up at a quarter to nine." Caroline still was not sure about what Darcy's intentions had been. If he had been planning to cheat on her, she could do the same and she would not even have to find a student -- no, she could take Richard. He was dying to be taken. And anyway, it was Darcy's fault that the girl should have to sleep here, so he should not be expecting to see her in class on time. This was a very vindictive measure, she knew.
"Oh," said Elizabeth. Professors seemed to lead an easy kind of life.
"He can't say anything," Caroline pointed out. "He knows where you are. You'll be in class at nine-thirty." The girl was not to blame. She had obviously not seduced Darcy.
That meant she would have to eat really fast, Elizabeth thought, and started to spoon her cereal up furiously.
Elizabeth did not know what to think of the Professor's habit to phone as she drove, not to mention her indifferent attitude to near-accidents, but at least it got her right outside the classroom at nine-thirty sharp.
Darcy did not say anything about her lateness when she walked in at 9:31, even though he had always said that he would send anyone away if they came in after 9:05. The rest of the class was amazed.
She borrowed a pen and some paper from someone else and tried to figure out to which point they had got, immediately photocopying the first half of the class during the break, thereby avoiding any possible questions from Darcy. She saw he wanted to talk to her, but that could wait until after class.
Professor B****ley set out to find Jane. All this irresponsible behaviour had to be put right. She would not tolerate it if members of the staff inconvenienced her indirectly. Jane was in her office, emailing. Professor B****ley squinted her eyes to see if it was an email to Charles, but she was unable to read the addressee. "Miss Bennet," she began.
"Yes, Ms Bingley?"
"Just a word of warning, Miss Bennet. Do take care that if you go off for a cosy night with your boyfriend that your sister has a place to sleep."
Jane coloured. She had been feeling terribly guilty about that and she did not know what Elizabeth had done, because she had not come to Charles' house. How did the woman know? The next thing she was going to say was that relationships at work were not allowed.
"Just take care that your actions do not bother other members of the staff, who might be obliged to take your sister in for the night. And of course that your work does not suffer."
"Yes, Ms Bingley."
"I suggest you give me a key to your house so situations like this can be avoided in the future." Caroline knew it must have been strange for Elizabeth to see her in Darcy's house, but she had found a way around the problem. She could just say she had keys to everybody's houses, which, with all the family relationships in the department, was nearly true. She had keys to Darcy's, Charles' and Louisa's houses already. "I've got a spare key to everybody's house."
"What for?" asked the baffled Jane.
"I'm sure you've heard about unorganised academics," Caroline said matter-of-factly. "Men, of course. Women can think of more than one thing at once. Well, our department is, sadly enough, not an exception. We have some very bright men, but I hate to say that they are absolutely useless or helpless in practical matters. It wouldn't be the first time that a member of the staff lost his keys. Do you know what a waste of valuable time it would be to the department if he had to go about finding his keys and staying in a hotel and so on? No, if those unorganised men lose their keys, I shall take them to a locksmith and they may have a duplicate of they that I keep safe for them. You are a woman, but since you are in love, I think it would be reasonable to put you on the same level as an unorganised man."
Jane was even more baffled.
"If you give me your keys, I shall have them duplicated and returned to you before ten o'clock."
Jane handed her the keyring.
Chapter 12
"Could I have a word?" Darcy asked Elizabeth after class. To be cornered by Darcy after class had at first -- on the students' very first day -- seemed something ultimately desirable, but it had long since come to be regarded as a sign of danger. Darcy himself was not at all dangerous. He was only doing his job, but those he cornered thought that perhaps he was doing his job too well.
Elizabeth had nothing to fear. She did her work well and even Darcy would not be able to find any faults with that. This could only mean that he wanted to discuss last night. She put her bag down again and waited.
"I noticed a certain reluctance to stay with me last night," he began.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows incredulously. Why was he surprised at that? Of course she had been reluctant! What did he think? He was such an arrogant jerk! "Yeah."
How could he say that he approved of that? Darcy had no idea and settled for a change of subject. "I trust Professor Bingley took good care of you?"
Thinking that the Professor was not exactly the caring type, Elizabeth suppressed a smirk. But all things considered, the Prof had probably given it her best shot. One should not blame the woman for being emotionally challenged -- she probably could not help it. "Excellent," Elizabeth said. Was he disappointed? Did he think he could have done it better? Ha! As if. "How come she has a key to your flat?" she asked innocently.
Darcy stiffened. "She has everybody's keys."
Elizabeth let out a disbelieving snort. "How convenient. And how caring. Was that all you wanted to ask me? I have another class," she said politely.
She quickly went to her next class, with Charlotte and her shadow William Collins.
"Did he tell you off for being late?" William asked.
"Yes," said Elizabeth, to be rid of him.
Their next class -- a new course -- looked promising. There was a young man in front of the class who at first sight united in himself all the good characteristics of Bingley and Darcy, and who had none of their bad ones. He was handsome and well-dressed like Darcy and he smiled like Bingley.
For those who had not seen him before, Richard Fitzwilliam was a revelation. All the girls giggled when he eyed every new arrival with delight, as if he was so pleased to see that particular girl in his class. He was the only reason so many girls wanted to specialise in Flemish.
Darcy joined him at the front and they conferred softly. Elizabeth observed them closely. Any new lecturer had to be observed closely and with all the tables facing the front of the class it was also inevitable. He appeared to be nice. No, he was nice. He would probably beat Bingley for niceness.
What was amazing that Darcy seemed to be able to smile. He actually smiled at this guy -- a very suspicious deed indeed. Next time he would invite her to sleep over, she would just go. Men who smiled at men but not at girls were safe.
And he sat down next to her. With her new knowledge of him this was puzzling, considering that there was a perfectly normal boy -- the only normal one in their year, almost -- sitting next to the one other free seat in the front of the classroom.
Having Darcy sit next to her was rather a drag, since it prevented her from doing the other stuff she was wont to do in class, such as homework. And he insisted on following the lecture, so he wanted to wanted to look into her book with her if Fitzwilliam referred to the book. Elizabeth was not really pleased with that. However, Fitzwilliam's Flemish was undoubtedly perfect, but hard to follow and she had the advantage of Darcy translating words for her if she muttered "what?" That was highly embarrassing, because she absolutely did not want to feel grateful to him.
She would much rather ask Fitzwilliam personally in the break, but more people seemed to have that idea when it turned 11:45. Maybe she ought to be grateful for sitting next to Darcy after all. And he smelt nice too.
Caroline, to make all the facts support her story, had gone over to Jane's flat at such an hour that she would be found there by Elizabeth. "Your sister has a decent flat," she told Elizabeth, who looked stunned to see her. "But her computer is crap. I shall free some money to get her a replacement. It's vital that she has good equipment at home as well."
"She has a key! Who does she think she is?" Elizabeth raged to Jane when the latter had come home.
"Professor Bingley," Jane said in resignation. "She's organised the department in such a way that she's its absolute head. Nothing can take place without her approval. The only one she doesn't have a grip on is Catherine De Bourgh, but they're sworn allies."
"What do they do?"
"According to Charles, they select new staff on the basis of their looks and not abilities."
"Is that how Charles got in?" Elizabeth asked humorously.
"He didn't say," Jane answered diplomatically. "But he did say that they almost never hired female staff because that would be a threat. Charles says they're afraid of other women."
And nobody would have to be afraid of Jane, Elizabeth nodded. So Jane had been hired. Along with some of the best-looking men in town. It was a good stunt, though. Parents would advise their offspring to study Dutch after having been to the open day, with such representative lecturers. Maybe the Dutch government was secretly paying for plastic surgery for talented scholars. Nah. That was just too bizarre and exactly the sort of absurdity she always came up with. It was a bit of a handicap, because it ensured that she would no longer be able to face any lecturer with a straight face, but only be studying him or her for signs of face-lifts and hair-dye.
Parents WOULD advise their offspring to go and study something of which the lecturers were nice/representative. My mum always commented on them at open days "they look very normal at Geography" ;) I'm not sure what would have been said if I had gone to an open day of English. My sister gestured DURING the first-year diploma ceremony that all lecturers present were bald with a little bit of hair on their foreheads, GESTURED so they could see it! And it's actually true. I think all men in the English dept. are bald with a little bit of hair on their foreheads.Continued in the Next SectionAnd this chapter could be...hmm...Rosings?