Charles Bingley was deep in thoughts. In fact, he had dived in his thoughts two months ago and, so far, hadn’t been able to emerge yet.
It had started with very material thoughts. Ever since he had rented Netherfield Park and took possession of the property, Mr. Darcy had told him that the fields were not cultivated in the right way. His advice was to change the nature of some of the crops and to take benefit of the new fashion for potatoes. His tenants would be well fed and, as Netherfield was close to London and potatoes travelled very well, he would be able to sell his production in that very ravenous market. Therefore he had given very serious thoughts to that idea (which seemed very interesting, based on the fact that it was one of his most reliable friend’s) and had concluded that he should sow potatoes in some of his fields. He had made an appointment with one of London most famous tradesman in agriculture (and not following Mr. Darcy who was in contact with another one) and he was supposed to meet him the morrow of his ball, in London. In fact, he was only to meet the tradesman’s assistant, as Mr. Gardiner (so was called this famous tradesman) was very busy and unable to find some time in his schedule for him.
So, on the 27th of November, he had left his house very early, his head full of Jane Bennet, but nonetheless determined to prove himself (and every gentleman to whom he should ask for one’s daughter’s hand) that he could be a good landowner. The meeting with Mr. Corncrop itself was very promising and, if he didn’t buy anything, he got out of the warehouse with a lot of information he would have to digest (and discuss with Mr. Darcy) and a new scheduled meeting in a month time to buy the seedlings and plan their delivery. Unfortunately, what came afterwards was less promising. When he entered the Hursts’ house in Grovesnor Street, he was very surprised to find his sisters, his brother in law and his good friend who had just arrived from Hertfordshire with their entire luggage. But after having heard the information related by Caroline and Mr. Darcy, he was utterly unnerved.
Jane Bennet, his sweet Jane (as he already called her in his dreams), was not in love with him, she was not even on the verge of falling in love with him. She was only a very obedient creature at the mercy of a mother interested in his position in life, as much for her own future as for her other daughters’. True, he had seen, since that first assembly in Meryton, that Mrs. Bennet was a mama in want of wealthy sons in law, true, he knew that because of the entail, should something happen to Mr. Bennet, his wife and daughters would be left without income and home but, to him, that hadn’t mean that the eldest daughter would pretend being very receptive to his attentions. All the private (although always with people around) conversations he had shared with Miss Bennet had been delightful. He had talked but she had, also, and not only to confirm his utterances or to flatter him. In fact, she had never flattered him. She had approved of Netherfield but it was a very nice property. And they both seemed to be of a very complying nature so the fact that they agreed on every topic was quite natural. Nevertheless, Caroline and Mr. Darcy were adamant that Jane Bennet had just been pretending. Moreover, they were absolutely against a union to this family. For, if Jane Bennet was a sweet girl, this could not be said for her sisters and her parents. Just the evening before, the three youngest, the mother and the father had dreadfully acted, displaying a lack of well-breeding that could cast some not-very-well-established relatives out of the good society. And Caroline had reminded that the last sister had presented herself to their house after having walked three miles in the mud (although he had never found it was so improper and Mr. Darcy had remained silent on this matter). If his sister and, most of all, the friend in whom he was wholly confident, agreed on those two points, they had to be right. And so, on that fateful day, his thoughts had gone from material to black.
The first week had been alcoholic. It was too much for him to endure and he had stayed in his chamber in the Grovesnor Street house in the company of his brother in law’s bottles of brandy. Alarmed by the fact that his reserve was decreasing rapidly, Mr. Hurst had called Mr. Darcy who had been surprised by the extent of his friend’s sorrow.
Willing to help his friend in this (and with a dim feeling of unease), he had tried to cheer him up. Being himself, he didn’t drag Mr. Bingley to parties; but he did drag him to his club. He tried to talk to him about the affairs on the Continent, about the affairs in America, about everything but Hertfordshire and the ladies living there. But Charles Bingley was, for once, a very gloomy and aloof fellow and, if the next three weeks went more soberly, they nonetheless went in a blur.
So, one afternoon, when a message was delivered for Mr. Bingley from Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse, its recipient was, at first, quite astonished. On reading the message, the whole business came back to his mind and he acknowledged that he had missed the second appointment with his future plants provider. That woke him up. Even though he was not to return to Netherfield soon, he could not let the estate decline. His tenants were still living there, some of his money was still invested in that place, he had to do something. So he answered immediately to Mr. Corncrop, apologizing for the missed appointment and asking for a new one. A new date was settled and, two weeks later, the purchaser and the seller met at last.
During that same time, Mr. Bingley readily consented to come to a diner at Mr. Darcy’s townhouse and, after the gentlemen had gathered for the port, he had discussed the different options with his friend.
“Darcy, there is a matter I’d been wanting to discuss with you a month ago but which left my mind afterwards.”
As there was no doubt about the reason of that leaving, Mr. Darcy answered: “And that would be?”
“Do you remember your idea of producing potatoes at Netherfield?”
“Well, …, yes, …, I didn’t think you had been interested.”
“And you were wrong. I had even met a tradesman of this kind of plants in London. In fact, it was the reason of my coming to town after the ball.” There he paused, his face coming back to the sad expression it had been wearing for the last month and that had disappeared most of the time this last week. Mr. Darcy harrumphed and Mr. Bingley shook his head.
“Well… yes, I am to meet him next week and I would like to discuss with you about the options I have. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, man! So what are they?”
I shall not sport with your interest by relaying this conversation but the end: Mr. Bingley finished by thanking his friend: “Darcy, thank you, as always your opinion was worth knowing. I know now what to do.”
“The pleasure was mine. Your opinion is also worth knowing even though you are not confident in it. Your interest in the matter and the reasons of it are truly admirable. I think you will be a very reliable landowner. And, by the way, I am very happy to see you back, I had missed you.”.
As neither Mr. Darcy nor Mr. Bingley were at ease with this last part, after a slight pause, they decided to join the ladies.
And a week after, Mr. Bingley exited Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse after a good meeting business with Mr. Corncrop. The seedlings were bought, the first portion of the payment laid down, the delivery planned for the week after and Mr. Bingley was to come back two weeks after to pay the second and last portion.
Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 2