‘And I suppose this is important, since the jury will be drawn from just the community you have been describing.’
Bridget nodded. ‘According to my husband, killing a man in a duel should result in a conviction for murder by the letter of the law. In practice, however, prosecutions are rare, and when they do occur, juries usually let off the accused provided that the duel is seen as well-motivated. So the jury will wonder why Mr Darcy did not simply swallow his pride and apologise, so avoiding any risk of serious harm coming to either party over what was a relatively minor disagreement.’
‘So if the case goes to court,’ Elizabeth concluded, in a trembling voice, ‘Mr Darcy will probably be found guilty.’
‘At the very least, he will be in great danger.’
As the dinner hour approached, Bridget begged leave to honour the daily ritual of settling her little boy for the night. The atmosphere accordingly changed, as from the dark complexities of Darcy’s predicament, they entered Georgie’s world of play, which on that day was ruled by the idea that all objects came in pairs: left boot with right boot, knife with fork, apple with orange, and so forth. On entering the nursery, Bridget and Elizabeth were invited to admire a procession that ran halfway across the room, including all his shoes and gloves, carefully matched up, along with more arbitrary pairings based on mere resemblance. A difference of opinion then arose, Bridget insisting that these objects should be put away, Georgie that they should be left out overnight. Elizabeth watched with interest as Bridget displayed a sterner side to her character, and after a brief tantrum, the objects lay in the cupboard, and Georgie in the bed—paired with his bear.
As she joined in this game, Elizabeth was grateful for the discussion with Bridget, which had left her feeling stronger, if not happier. If Bridget’s information was accurate, Darcy’s prospects were black indeed, but at least she now had a clearer picture of the likely sequence of events, and hence the possibilities for intervention.
Dinner passed pleasantly in the company of another guest, a friend of Thomas Beaumont’s. Elizabeth had feared that Darcy’s duel might be raised as a topic of current scandal, and it was a relief when the gentlemen embarked instead on a political discussion concerning the prime minister Pitt’s conduct of the war with France, and in particular his new overtures to the Russians, Austrians and Prussians. Listening closely, she tried to divine whether Mr Beaumont’s sympathies lay with the Tories or Whigs, but without success: he seemed interested above all in the facts of the case, and treated all politicians with equal scepticism.
After dinner, the servant returned with an acknowledgement from the Gardiners, and the party split again on gender lines, with the gentlemen returning to Mr Beaumont’s study, and the ladies to Bridget’s sanctuary, where they drank weak Chinese tea from small cups.
‘Do you have a view on the proscecution of the war?’ Bridget asked. ‘I don’t think you expressed one over dinner.’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘I suppose if we wish to defeat Bonaparte, we should assemble the widest possible coalition. Luckily he seems determined to assist us in this endeavour by attacking everyone in sight. But I’m not knowledgeable about war, nor in truth very interested.’
‘Nor I,’ Bridget admitted. ‘But perhaps we should be interested. Have you had time to look at the book I gave you?’
‘Yes, and with great attention.’
Bridget leaned forward excitedly. ‘You see, I would really like to understand whether it is right that certain spheres—I mean politics, business, science, and so forth—should be left exclusively to the gentlemen, while we are left in what is essentially a supportive role. On what is this division based?’
‘Presumably, on the desire of men to keep control over the levers of power, while relegating us to the role of their playthings.’
‘But surely we must allow that there might be a real difference in aptitude. Physically, for instance, men are undeniably stronger. On average they would best us in hand-to-hand combat.’
‘As they in turn would be bested by gorillas,’ Elizabeth pointed out.
‘So the question is whether there is a similar distinction in mental competence, and here our male brethren can muster some powerful evidence in support of their claims. Can we find even one clear example of a woman showing superior ability in philosophy, or musical composition, or scientific discovery?’
Elizabeth considered. ‘I have heard women who excel in musical performance.’
‘That’s right. We perform, but we do not compose. We draw prettily, but we are not great artists.’
‘Nor are most men. The answer may be that excellence requires both aptitude and encouragement, and that only men are favoured with both.’
‘Yes …’ Bridget thought about this for a few moments, then raised a finger. ‘But I’m not sure encouragement is the right word. We recently attended a chamber concert of works by Telemann, and in his introduction the conductor gave some details of the composer’s childhood. It seems Telemann took lessons in singing and playing the organ at the age of ten—both activities seen as fitting for the son of a clergyman. However, the boy by his own initiative taught himself three other instruments, and began to compose his own arias and motets. The family disapproved, wishing him to follow a different career, and his mother confiscated his instruments and forbade him to play or compose. But the boy was determined, and kept his interest alive by composing in secret, until he was old enough to leave home and attend school, where the masters recognised his ability.’
‘So although discouraged, he had opportunity,’ Elizabeth said. ‘The sons of the gentry are sent off to school and then to university. We daughters stay at home with our families and learn to be good companions.’
‘Just so. But what I want to know is this.’ Bridget leaned forward intently. ‘Suppose that a girl of ten has been taught, like Telemann, to sing and play—as many are. And suppose that she conceives a desire to compose music too, and pursues this goal with the same determination. Is it true to say that she has no opportunities? She can study the work of the great composers. With a little ingenuity she can acquire books on the art of composition. What holds her back?’
‘I believe some women have composed music,’ Elizabeth pointed out.
‘And has their work been published or performed?’
‘Perhaps not. But there are many published female writers. Fanny Burney for instance—who was also discouraged by her family. Or Hannah More. And of course Mary Wollstonecraft herself, who is the reason we are having this conversation.’
‘That’s right.’ Bridget sighed in frustration. ‘So why have women been successful in some fields of intellectual endeavour and not others? Are we disposed by nature to write novels but not to compose music? Or …’
‘Or do some arts require only general experience of life, while others depend on years of formal training, in the company of other students?’ Elizabeth interrupted. ‘Imagine what it must be like to pass several years at an institution dedicated to specialised study, in the daily company not only of masters, but of others studying the same discipline.’
Bridget’s face coloured with emotion. ‘That is what I would have liked to experience.’
Elizabeth nodded eagerly. ‘And until women as well as men have this opportunity, nobody can say for sure what we can and cannot do.’
As the Beaumont carriage neared Cheapside, Elizabeth began to worry at the lateness of the hour. She found her aunt still up, waiting for her in the parlour; Mr Gardiner instead had gone to bed after a tiring day at work.
Mrs Gardiner motioned her to take a seat, and with a grave expression said, ‘I’m relieved to see you back safe and sound, Lizzy.’
‘I didn’t mean you to wait up.’
‘I’ll go to bed now. I wanted …’ Mrs Gardiner coloured with embarrassment. ‘I wanted to ask you to be punctual for breakfast tomorrow morning. There is something your uncle would like to discuss with you.’
Elizabeth felt a twinge of unease
. ‘Of what nature?’
‘I’d prefer to leave my husband to explain.’ She touched Elizabeth’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure it can be resolved easily enough. Oh, by the way, there is a letter for you in the hall.’
On retrieving the letter, Elizabeth immediately recognised Jane’s hand, and felt a glow of anticipation which for the moment drove other concerns from her mind. Leaving the letter on her bedside table as a promise of future pleasure, she made haste to wash, rub her teeth, and change into her nightgown, before kneeling to read by the light of a single candle.
Longbourn
Dear Lizzy
I must be quick (mama is in a state) but I wanted to write straight away for I have such news as you will hardly credit. Mr Bingley has returned to Netherfield, not two days ago, and today he came to pay us a call! What is more, he was extremely attentive, and when mama contrived to leave us alone for a few moments, explained to me the reasons he left so abruptly last year, and did not call while I was in London. I cannot go into details now, but I am so relieved and gratified that we have now met and achieved a better understanding, although of course I do not ask or expect anything to come of this.
Mr Bingley also confirmed the grave news concerning Mr Darcy, of which we had already heard rumours in Meryton. I believe you know what I am referring to. It is extremely shocking, and I’m sure you must be distressed whatever your opinion of that gentleman.
I hope you are enjoying London—but not too much for I would dearly love you to return. Have you been able to visit Mrs Beaumont and her family as you intended? Papa often grumbles that you have abandoned him, and I think he also worries about his debt to Mr Gardiner, but like all of us he has been cheered by Mr Bingley’s reappearance.
Looking forward to hearing your news, Jane
After scanning these words rapidly for new information, Elizabeth read them again slowly, with ambivalent feelings. On the one hand she was delighted and relieved that Jane’s sufferings were at an end—for unlike her sister, she was in no doubt of Mr Bingley’s intentions. On the other hand, she was uneasy that her family should be sharing in the gossip about Mr Darcy; she was also disturbed by the phrase ‘whatever your opinion of that gentleman’, which reminded her anew of Bridget’s words: manifestly you are not indifferent to this man.
After hiding the letter inside Vindication of the Rights of Woman, itself secured at the bottom of a drawer, Elizabeth snuffed out the candle and retired, aware that sleep would not come easily.
Chapter 11
As he opened his boiled egg, Mr Gardiner came straight to the point.
‘So Lizzy, it seems you arrived later than expected at the Beaumonts.’
Elizabeth frowned, wondering how her uncle had come by this information, then recalled that he might have questioned the servant who had carried her message. She nodded assent.
‘What delayed you?’
She hesitated, unwilling to lie. ‘I would rather not say.’
Mr Gardiner exchanged a grim look with his wife before taking a folded note from his breeches pocket. ‘This arrived yesterday evening, after your message. It is from Mr Darcy.’
Elizabeth gasped in horror. ‘What does it say?’
‘You may as well read it yourself.’
He handed it over, and Elizabeth turned away, to hide her countenance, before studying the now familiar hand.
Grosvenor Street
Dear Mr Gardiner
I feel it is my duty to inform you that your niece Miss Elizabeth Bennet has called at Darcy House this afternoon. Given my present circumstances, I had strongly advised her to discontinue her visits, but from the selfless kindness of her nature she wished to comfort my sister, and to read to me to distract me from my illness. From Miss Bennet’s own admission, I understand that her family, and yourself in particular, are unaware of this situation, which in my opinion—and I imagine yours as well—should be promptly addressed, to avoid any risk of damage to Miss Bennet’s reputation.
Sincerely, Fitzwilliam Darcy
As she finished this letter, Elizabeth kept hold of it, pretending to read it again but in reality struggling to regain her composure. Her face no doubt betrayed her emotion, which her uncle and aunt would probably construe as embarrassment, or perhaps guilt, but her main feeling was one of fury at Darcy’s characteristic paternalism and self-importance. It was as if Darcy and her uncle were adults, and she, Elizabeth, was a child in their care that had foolishly ignored their counsel, acted on impulse, and needed to be guided kindly but firmly back to the proper pathway. And this from a man who had just endangered his own life, and his sister’s reputation and prospects, by taking part in a mindless duel for no apparent reason beyond some medieval notion of honour. He was ridiculous—in a way as foolish and sanctimonious as Mr Collins—and she longed to tell him so. However, for the present she had to attend to her uncle and aunt, who were awaiting her reaction with their usual kindly concern.
She handed the letter back to her uncle, who after an awkward pause asked, ‘I assume this is true, Lizzy?’
Elizabeth coloured in shame. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you …’
‘Perhaps you visited the Darcys on impulse,’ Mrs Gardiner suggested, ‘and were intending to inform us afterwards?’
For a moment Elizabeth was tempted to assent to this, but she decided there had been enough deceit. ‘In truth, I was determined to thank Mr Darcy for his help to our family, and to offer any support that was in my power to give.’ She shifted her gaze to take in her uncle as well as her aunt. ‘I concealed my visit because I feared you would oppose it.’
‘With good reason,’ Mr Gardiner said, with an unusually authoritative edge to his voice. ‘Have you no appreciation of the risk you have been taking?’
‘I see no particular danger,’ Elizabeth said, trying to control her irritation at this further demonstration of male paternalism. ‘I have no reason to think I was observed arriving or departing. I met no-one outside the Darcy family, who are scarcely given to gossip.’
‘Surely other people might have called,’ Mrs Gardiner pointed out.
‘On the contrary, the Darcys are now in self-imposed exile. Even the Bingleys have been discouraged from visiting.’ Elizabeth wondered whether to mention her news from Jane, but held off to prevent any impression of trying to change the topic.
Mr Gardiner shook his head. ‘I cannot go along with this, Lizzy. With luck no harm is done yet, but the visits must cease until Mr Darcy succeeds in clearing his name—as I hope and trust he will.’
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes, and she whispered, ‘I wish I could feel such confidence.’
There was a long silence, before Mrs Gardiner asked gently, ‘Lizzy, is there perhaps some—understanding between you and Mr Darcy? I was assured by your mother that you thoroughly disliked him, but now I am unsure what to think.’
‘Believe me, there is no understanding of any kind. However, I have misjudged Mr Darcy in the past, and we are now in his debt. I believe it would be shameful to abandon him.’
Mr Gardiner waved the letter. ‘But that is precisely what Mr Darcy insists that you do, and I must say I concur entirely with his judgement. I’m sorry Lizzy, this must end directly, else I will be forced to inform your father. If you wish to remain in London, I must have your promise that there will be no more visits to Darcy House, nor any other contacts with the family.’ He glanced at the clock, and rose to his feet. ‘Do I have your word?’
Elizabeth remained silent for a while, seething with frustration and humiliation, but saw no alternative to giving in, and in a strangled voice muttered her agreement.
The following two days Elizabeth passed mainly in her own company, sometimes walking in the park, and sometimes reading Mary Wollstonecraft, whose ideas had become almost an obsession. Recalling her last conversation with Bridget, she was impressed that her friend could address the topic in such a dispassionate and patient way—as if going out of her way to acknowledge that there might i
ndeed be grounds for male superiority, at least in some spheres. Still boiling with anger against Mr Darcy, and to some extent her uncle, Elizabeth was in no mood to take such a reasonable view. She could perceive in the male sex no superiority whatever, except in the infliction of physical violence. Despite noble exceptions, the consequences of male domination seemed to her disastrous, from the wars now ravaging Europe to the excesses of the gambling rooms to the bizarre rituals of gentlemanly conduct—including of course duelling, through which a quarrel that women would have settled by a few sharp words might become an issue of life and death.
Despite her frustration over the ban on visiting the Darcys, Elizabeth’s spirits were sustained by the impending outing to the Theatre Royal to see Hamlet. Bridget’s invitation had included the Gardiners, but when Thursday came round, her uncle, who had picked up a slight cold, declared himself unfit to sit through such a long play. Mrs Gardiner too preferred to remain at home, but encouraged Elizabeth to attend, provided that Mr Beaumont could ensure her safe return. A servant was accordingly dispatched to Cavendish Square with a message expressing the Gardiners’ apologies; he returned with a note from Bridget offering to collect Elizabeth from Gracechurch Street at six o’clock, and to return her to the same address at around midnight.
Five minutes before the appointed hour the carriage arrived, and Mr and Mrs Beaumont entered briefly to greet the Gardiners. As they turned back west along Newgate Street, then past Lincoln Inn Fields towards Drury Lane, Elizabeth began to forget her troubles in the excitement of the occasion, and Bridget’s light-hearted banter. Entering the theatre district, they found it so clogged with traffic that Mr Beaumont chose a spot in Russell Street, some two hundred yards distant, from where they could proceed easily enough on foot, and meet up with the coachman after the performance.
The new Theatre Royal had been built just ten years ago, and from report Elizabeth was expecting something grand. Still, on viewing the auditorium she was overwhelmed by its size, with five levels of galleries and boxes surrounding the stalls, overhung by a huge dome. The Beaumonts had a modest box on the third level, some way back from the right side of the stage, furnished with a dark red carpet and chairs upholstered in the same colour. Taking a seat in the corner and leaning over the railing, Elizabeth felt enveloped by noise as the theatre rapidly filled.
Darcy's Trial Page 7
