Lizzy blamed Mr Bingley’s sisters and I was inclined to agree. My initial impressions of both were not felicitous, but it seemed they had enough sense not to wish their brother burdened with an inappropriate match. “I do not rue the loss of their company,” I told Lizzy. “But Mr Bingley I will miss.”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a married man in possession of a single daughter must be in want of a brandy. That night, with five such offspring, I felt the need for a whole bottle.
~ ~ ~
Mr Collins’s departure not two days later ensured some kind of peace once again found a resting place at Longbourn. Only his promise to visit again tempered my relief. There was some more unpleasantness, though, when Sir William called to announce the engagement of our former guest to his eldest daughter. It was fair to say Mrs Bennet was vexed, both by the loss of Mr Collins as a suitor, and by the gain of Charlotte as the future mistress of Longbourn.
I did not wish Mr Collins for Lizzy, but then I did not wish him for anyone. Except, perhaps, as an ideal match for Mr Bingley’s unmarried sister. It would have been a fine combination of arrogance and obsequiousness that would know no equal. Charlotte had always been a true friend to Lizzy, with a most sensible disposition. Perhaps too sensible. I was both sad and happy for the girl.
Sir William made no secret of his happiness. To his inestimable credit, the disbelief his announcement caused among the girls did not appear to give offence.
“I hope the girls did not disgrace themselves too much, Sir William. They are young and romantic, and have not seen enough of the world to properly understand it. You will forgive the surprise and wonder in their response to your news?”
“Why, of course, there is nothing to forgive. Nothing at all!” Sir William shifted in his chair. Outside my library we could still hear excited chatter punctuated by shrill cries.
“Mr Bennet,” he continued, pausing to take a sip of port, then returning the glass to the table slowly. “I know Mr Collins is a strange kind of fellow. But a man would have to be a mighty fool not to give him his blessing. He has so much to offer a wife. A good home.” He looked away, and his voice dropped a little. “Capital prospects.”
Turning back to face me, he continued. “We are friends, Bennet. I know you must feel disappointment that Miss Elizabeth did not accept Mr Collins’s offer. And I know that as a good and sensible father you will have tried to persuade her otherwise.” I forced a smile. “But I feel sure you will soon share in equal happiness. There is Mr Bingley, for example.” The smile fought briefly with my feelings, but managed to maintain a steady presence on my face. “And I understand Mr Murden shows much interest in Miss Catherine. Why, the church bells will barely stop ringing!”
War and peace
We celebrated Mr Collins’s absence quietly, like the few survivors of an abandoned siege. His timely departure, combined with Lydia’s regular absences at Colonel Forster’s, meant December began peacefully enough.
I woke one morning to find the windows painted in ice and the gardens sculpted in crystal. Early risers had left their trails on the frosted ground. I soon added mine, leading all the way to Meryton on business.
By chance, Fielding met me in Weintraub’s and persuaded me to join him in the Flighted Duck. In truth, I was happy to delay the journey home in a frozen carriage. Tincton’s beef and potato broth would also tide me over until Longbourn.
We found the same quiet niche once used by Jackson and me, sitting snug behind its oak column. It still seemed best suited to discussions of dark deeds, but we were men of Meryton, not merry men of Sherwood. So we talked only of books, horses and the delights of sponge cake. Our conversation faded, though, as full stomachs and a fat fire pulled us into drowsiness, at least until familiar voices urged us back to wakefulness.
Had I not known the tones of Murden, Denny, and Wickham from dinners at Longbourn, I would still have recognised the sound of officers. Boisterous. Loud. Entitled. And seemingly thirsty.
In the army, we would curl up like ferns when the cold seeped through our tents and clothes and watch the ice form over our weak stew. The thought returned every time I saw Meryton officers feasting on Tincton’s fine offerings.
I was grateful the young men were there, though, safe in Hertfordshire and not with Lord Wellington, even if Portuguese winters were likely warmer than ours. If nothing else, they allowed our nervous spinsters to roam the streets safely, free from the threat of rioting workers from factories we did not have.
I hunched lower in my seat, not wishing the burden of polite conversation.
“Mr Bennet!” I had not hunched low enough. “Are you well, sir?” asked Mr Murden. “Does your back trouble you in the cold? We have liniment in our quarters.”
I straightened, assured Mr Murden of my good health, and then introduced Fielding to the assembled men of the militia.
“Would you care to join us? There is space enough at our table. We can provide the warmth of good company and spiced wine on this chill day.” Fielding’s hospitable spirit drew a silent curse from my lips.
“That is an offer neither an officer, nor a gentleman, may refuse.”
Mr Murden took a seat opposite me, flanked by his two colleagues. “Your family is well, Mr Bennet? Mrs Bennet and your daughters?”
“Very well, thank you, Mr Murden. Kitty is a little bored. She misses the distraction visitors bring.” He merely nodded.
“And Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” said Wickham. “With her curiosity and vigour for life, I cannot imagine she could ever be bored.”
“Indeed not, though she suffers in winter when shorter days make reading less easy and visitors less likely.” A nod from Mr Wickham. They would all have made excellent donkeys. “We have not seen you all in some time. You might join us again soon at Longbourn…for dinner?” The girls, at least, always longed for military entertainment.
“I would very much like that,” said Mr Denny.
“As would we all, though our duties are onerous at the moment.” I might have given Mr Murden’s words more credence had he not spoken them between sips of wine in an inn.
Mr Wickham chuckled. “Most onerous, my friend, keeping you up so late, so often. Such stamina.”
“You have many calls on your time, Mr Murden?” I said.
He stared into his wine a while before answering. “Like your daughters, I seek distraction, Mr Bennet. The militia is military by name only. We have no walls to repair, no fortifications to build. No hills to patrol, no enemy to watch. No deserters to chase or prisoners to guard. No threat to hold our attention and keep us lively. So we must seek our own entertainment. Here in the inn, or among the people of Meryton. Fear is not our constant companion in this town, Mr Bennet; boredom is. So we drink, and gamble, and dance, and tell stories, and find relief among the families of gentlemen, travelling from one to the next, for a soldier seldom settles in one place when out campaigning.” He drained his glass without any sign of pleasure.
“Your mood is blacker than usual,” I said.
“Too much wine, perhaps.” Mr Murden raised his empty glass. “Or not enough. Forgive me, I am not myself today. Your invitation is a kind one. Perhaps nearer Christmas, if the weather permits?”
We settled on the seventeenth. I suggested to Fielding that he might join us at Longbourn, but he was sensible enough to have a prior engagement. The officers left shortly after to attend to their various obligations, encouraged by little attempt at conversation on my part.
“Forgive me the observation, Bennet,” said Fielding. “But for a former army man you show no great love for the company of soldiers.”
“I meant no harm. Besides, we must distinguish between the military and those who serve in it. One is admirable, the other subject to the same diversity of character and morals as any collection of men.”
“Still, your manner was cooler than usual.”
“My lack of warmth was perhaps caused by frustration. From what Mr Murden said, my Kitty can n
o longer entertain any hope of his exclusive attention. Another daughter knocked aside from the path to the altar. It is a sad state of affairs when all that now remains of Mrs Bennet’s matrimonial ambitions is a curate’s brief interest in Mary at a ball.” Fielding looked unsure whether to laugh.
~ ~ ~
Despite the intentions born on my recent carriage ride from London, I soon found my old cynicism knocking at the door to my soul like a returning beggar.
There was little joy at Longbourn. Perhaps it was the way Mrs Bennet’s lips tightened at any mention of Mr Collins, or how one or other daughter could often be found staring bleakly into the distance, hands closed over a volume of poetry.
My mood was not helped by the clouds that spread a wet blanket over days dulled further by the arrival of a letter from Hunsford’s paragon of obsequiousness.
“Read it, dear Lizzy, and rejoice in your lucky escape,” I said, when alone with my daughter. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It is easily summarised. He takes five lines to express his gratitude for his first visit here, and another ten to announce the next one. The plague returns to Longbourn. Shall we both leave for London and find comfort and safety within the walls of Brecknell’s leather-bound treasures? No book will berate me for choosing your happiness over that of your mother. Nor will any book spend thirty minutes apologising for dropping a soup spoon.”
There was nothing to be done but to take long winter walks and cover myself in books, port and a sprinkling of self-pity until I could begin to work on John’s behalf.
That task began with the next Society meeting. The capricious Hertfordshire winter teased us with clear skies, so I rode forth to the Flighted Duck in better spirits than of late.
With little Society business of note in December, we used the time to sail through the trusted conversational waters of politics, the war, pigeons and partridges. Then we dined on those two very birds, our bowls and plates filled with steaming soups, stews, and pies.
Fielding’s sigh of satisfaction at the meal seemed greater than my own, perhaps because he enjoyed little game at home. His wisdom was rich, but his aim poor. The wildlife had little to fear from the landowner’s gun on Fielding’s manor.
I finished my wine, drummed a few bars of a Beethoven piano sonata on my stomach, then stood, tapping my glass with a spoon. Jackson was the last to give me his full attention, since that required dragging it from a promising slice of Mrs Tincton’s sponge cake.
“Gentlemen! You remember my friend John Barton and the enigmatic Miss Hayter?”
“The fellow who is Yorkshire?” said Stanhope. “As I recall, Jackson provided all the information needed to bring about the desired meeting?”
“I did at that. Duty complete and problem solved. Now pass the cake.”
My good humour began to slip away like one of Fielding’s beaters, fearful of another wayward shot from his master. “Well, yes, Jackson’s intelligence was of considerable help, but John has not yet met the lady.” That brought groans from around the table. “I, on the other hand, have. In London. Just over a fortnight ago.”
“And you did not think to tell any of us before?” I knew Fielding well enough to hear the disappointment in his voice. I could have told him when we met a week ago, but it would have meant discussing Abigail, too.
“I felt it only fair to first report my experience to you all.”
“And?” Fielding leaned forward in his chair.
“Miss Hayter is particularly handsome and remarkably quick-witted. Easy to feel affection for, I would say, though perhaps a little, well, forward.”
“Who was with her?” said Elliston.
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot imagine you had a private tête-à-tête,” said Elliston. “Was it the mother? From what Jackson says, she has quite a reputation. Bit of a harridan.”
“I do not see what that has to do with anything. We are talking about Miss Hayter.”
“No need to get upset, Bennet. I was only curious.” Elliston sniffed and seemed a little put out.
“Of course, my apologies.”
“So?” said Fielding.
“So what?”
“Did she have company?” said Jackson.
“Yes, she did. Her mother. She was with her mother. Who was perfectly amiable. Not a harridan at all, nothing like one. On the contrary.” I took a deep breath, then rubbed my face. “Anyway, may we return to my story?”
Nobody spoke, but their faces looked surprised at my vehemence.
“Please continue,” said Fielding, eventually.
“As regards Miss Hayter…I am no stranger to women, but when she smiled, well…I am even more sure than before that she is not short of admirers, all armed with money or position. Or both.”
“So your friend, lacking cash and connections…” Jackson looked almost sad.
“Must find some other way to distinguish himself, if he is not already too late. I am resolved to continue to help John. All is not lost. When I say she is forward, some might interpret her behaviour as…challenging. I cannot imagine she tolerates fools easily, which will eliminate much of the competition. Unfortunately, John has largely given up hope and is now up north.”
“Whereabouts?” said Stanhope.
“Ironically, Yorkshire.” I gave him a frown dressed as a smile.
“Oh.”
“So, we need a fresh plan to tempt him back south. I would, again, welcome your advice in this matter.” None was forthcoming. Jackson began to eye up the cake again. “I should also bring to your attention that the young lady has a particular interest in…butterflies.”
At Longbourn, I could look out a bay window across to the hills at dawn and wait for the rising sun to find a crack in the morning cloud. When it did, a flood of light fell across the meadows, changing the world in a moment. The word ‘butterflies’ had a similar effect.
Jackson’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. Elliston put down his glass and straightened himself in his chair. Stanhope just stared, eyes wide and unblinking.
Fielding’s smile was an earnest one. “Bennet, we must help this young man. One does not simply give up a Lepidopteran lady.” Mumbled assent came from around the table.
“I am glad you all agree. And I thank you for it. So, let us apply our wisdom and understanding, once again, to the simple task of bringing one gentleman together with one lady.” I looked around, eyebrows raised in question and hope.
All I could hear was Stanhope humming some Italian opera. Perhaps he sought inspiration from Pollarolo and Scarlatti.
Then Jackson rose slowly from his seat like Cetus emerging from the sea. “I faced a similar challenge once. In the Americas. Dispute with the locals. How to bring our two sides together. Neutral ground, gentlemen, neutral ground. That is the key. Let them spend time in each other’s company. Recognise shared interests and come to a satisfactory arrangement.” He sat down again and rewarded himself with the patient piece of cake.
“You will recall we lost that particular argument,” said Elliston. Jackson ignored him, addressing all his attention instead to the sugared delight before him.
“The idea has merit,” I said. “Let us only hope for a better outcome. I can easily arrange for John to be anywhere, given sufficient incentive, but ensuring Miss Hayter’s presence for any length of time seems something of a hurdle. Perhaps in London.”
“Or at Longbourn,” said Fielding. “What we need is for her to befriend one of your daughters. Then you can invite her to your home and have your friend along at the same time. From your description of Miss Hayter, Miss Elizabeth would make the perfect foil in our little plan. What say you, Bennet?”
“But how do we bring the two together? An encounter between two ladies is a sight easier to arrange than between a lady and a gentleman, but still…”
“If we cannot bring Miss Hayter to Longbourn to plant the seeds of such a friendship, then we must take Longbourn to Miss Hayter. My dear friend,” said Fielding, �
��it is time for you to return to Bath.”
Travel plans
The Bath proposal, conceived so diligently by committee, seemed considerably less attractive in the morning light. We lacked the resources to finance an extended stay in the city. Nor was I sure how to engage the attention of Miss Hayter. To call on her mother would be possible, but hardly advisable with Mrs Bennet in tow.
If Jackson was right, the Hayters’ lack of enthusiasm for Bath’s assemblies and similar would not make chance encounters easy, either. And yet, even as I pondered the problem, I recalled Miss Hayter’s words: My favourite bookstore in Bath has a number of excellent volumes on butterflies. Should you ever be in town, Mr Tavistock takes delivery from his London suppliers on Fridays. It was worth a roll of the dice. And if all else failed, I could always rely on the girls’ ability to bury themselves in Bath society and dig their way to Miss Hayter.
Regardless, I wrote to Mr Gardiner. Perhaps his friend from Bath had some knowledge we could use.
~ ~ ~
The world might have rebuked the Gardiner family for giving it Mrs Bennet, but it could not doubt the value of her brother. Knowing of my wish to visit Bath, he quickly found us accommodation on Gay Street at a very reasonable rent. Business would keep his friend in London through to the summer, and the fellow was happy to allow us to use his empty townhouse at any time for a small consideration. I accepted the offer in principle by letter. The details would wait until the Gardiners joined us at Christmas.
I rode over to Fielding’s to tell him the news and seek his advice on one remaining obstacle. He was in his lower fields, giving full rein to a horse.
“She flies like the wind,” I called as he approached.
“Silly of me really, all this riding at my age.” He patted his chestnut steed as it stood snorting and pawing at the ground. “My legs fail me slowly, Bennet. But my horse does not. It feels good to get up speed once more.”
“Time is an enemy we will never defeat.” We set off slowly back to his stables. “I have secured accommodation in Bath. I thought you would like to know.”
Cake and Courtship (Mr Bennet's Memoirs #1) Page 11
