by Anne Morris
One day, their father came into the sitting room to seek Elizabeth and brought her back to his book room.
“Lizzy, that man follows me everywhere I go. I can speak to him when we come together to drink our tea or talk over a meal, but I cannot abide him in the sanctity of my library. Take him to Meryton this morning and leave me in peace. Take all of your sisters. Tell Mrs. Bennet you have my permission to take even Catherine and Lydia with you, but go! All of you must go to Meryton and visit Mrs. Phillips.”
“All morning!” Elizabeth cried. It had already been a trying number of days.
“All morning, Lizzy. Leave me my house and leave me my peace,” Mr. Bennet answered her with a stern look as if she was eight and had been misbehaving.
All five Bennet daughters put on their coats or cloaks that morning, gathered up their Cousin Collins to the party, and set off for the village. Mr. Collins chatted as he walked beside them, but none of them listened to his verbiage as they made their way to their aunt’s home. When they reached the outskirts of town, the two youngest let out a squeal of delight as they spied at least three red-coated men walking on the road ahead of them. The tall figure with the dark hair—for he wore no hat—made them feel sure that one, at least, was Mr. Denny whom they had been especially eager to see.
Those two ardent sisters began to move with swifter legs than the rest. Lydia, being the tallest, had the longest legs, so Catherine almost had to trot to match her pace, but they outpaced their older sisters and cousin to catch up with those officers who seemed to be doing nothing but parade in the street at their leisure.
“Mr. Denny!” yelled Lydia as brash as ever. She did not wait for him to acknowledge her, Catherine, or their group. He noticed the entirety of them and stopped his movement. One companion, Mr. Matthews, was known to them. But the other man was new. He was a beautifully formed young man, tawny and golden, with his hair in a queue and looking the vision of an officer to both Lydia and Catherine Bennet.
“Miss Lydia, Miss Catherine,” remarked Mr. Denny in turn. He waited for the rest of the party to catch up before he greeted them. Jane introduced their cousin, Mr. Collins.
“Well-met! I have just returned from London and have convinced an acquaintance to join our little troop here in Meryton,” declared Mr. Denny. He paused as he eyed the five women before him. “No. I think I shan’t introduce you. You are all too pretty, and he shall steal all of your hearts.”
Lydia and Catherine squealed with laughter at such a sentiment before Mr. Denny carried on.
“This is Mr. Wickham. I believe he shall be an excellent officer and friend to our little troop here in Meryton,” continued Mr. Denny. There were curtsies and bows all around.
“How d’you do?” stated Mr. Wickham to all the women in a general way as he flashed a very congenial smile. Elizabeth thought her two youngest sisters might faint on the spot. There was some general discussion as the older Miss Bennets raised a more intelligent conversation than the two youngest, who seemed to stumble over their words under the power of such a handsome face.
“We were going to visit our aunt, Mrs. Phillips,” commented Jane, ever the mediator. “Shall you come along to visit?”
Mr. Denny and Mr. Matthews acknowledged that they were acquainted with the Phillipses, and Mr. Wickham expressed an interest in meeting Mrs. Phillips. The three officers joined them as they made their way to that particular house.
Mrs. Phillips was always pleased to have visitors, and such handsome officers were especially welcome. They were immediately shown into the best drawing-room, and the party arranged themselves around it. Lydia and Catherine stayed within the radius of the new officer, intending on ferreting out as much information as possible, and achieving as much flirting as they could in the time they were allotted away from home.
Elizabeth chose a seat at the front of the room, next to a window which looked out onto the main thoroughfare in Meryton. She could allow her eyes to wander down the street when the tedious conversation by her youngest sisters wore her down.
Mrs. Phillips had tea brought in, and Jane and Mary helped to entertain Mr. Denny and Mr. Matthews. The darkly handsome Mr. Denny was now second fiddle to the leonine Mr. Wickham in Lydia and Catherine’s eyes. The minutes ticked by as Elizabeth listened to the conversation around her which was split into two distinct groups. Elizabeth joined in only if someone set her a direct question. She would then go back to sneaking glimpses out of the window.
Elizabeth’s thoughts were on Mr. Darcy. So much of her summer had been occupied with all of the changes at Longbourn that she had hidden away the feelings she had for him. The officers before her wanted to be seen as bold and daring, braggarts with an air of impressing the young women around them. To see how many hearts they could break but without concern for the harm they might be doing by flexing that charm. Elizabeth had no wish to be charmed by such men.
Mr. Darcy was kind and intelligent with his somewhat hidden sense of humor, and she missed him. A pain welled in her chest, and Elizabeth reached up with her hand and pressed against her beating heart in a futile attempt to eradicate the pain. Elizabeth missed him. She knew that she loved him, though she would never see him again.
Her eyes strayed back out of the window in an attempt to hide the sadness in her eyes. The street bustled with people on various errands with various purposes, but there were two men on horseback whom she did not recognize. Elizabeth focused on them as she attempted to control her breathing. She let go of the fabric over her chest and laid her hand on the sill of the window as she watched the two men ride slowly through the crowds down the high street in Meryton. One wore a blue coat and rode a black horse. The other wore a black coat; the horse under him was dappled gray.
Elizabeth froze as she watched Mr. Darcy and the unknown man approach. Elizabeth was sure she had conjured him up from her imagination, and perhaps this was some sort of sight, like with her mother’s spirit, and she could not trust her eyes. Elizabeth’s hand came back to clutch at her breast again as she watched the two men approach and come almost level with the house, just below her window.
“Miss Elizabeth, isn’t it?” asked a voice. She turned to see that Mr. Wickham was standing next to her with expectant eyes. He had a teacup in one hand and was inviting himself to sit with her. Perhaps her eyes and her posture gave away that she was in distress. “What is it?”
Mr. Wickham looked out the window as Mr. Darcy, and the other man passed by and went on down the Meryton high street. She heard the hiss of a breath. Elizabeth turned to look at the officer whose face had turned red, not quite as red as his coat, but red enough to indicate his distress.
“Do you know either of those men?” Elizabeth asked, placing her hand in her lap and attempting to compose herself.
“I do. Though I think that you too are acquainted with at least one of them,” Mr. Wickham said in return.
“I am,” replied Elizabeth. “I only know one: Mr. Darcy. We met in London…in the spring, but I don’t know the other. I suspect that is our new neighbor, Mr. Bingley. He moved here a few days ago, just after Michaelmas.”
The redness began to fade from Mr. Wickham’s face. “I see. I too am acquainted with Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth eyes widened in surprise, “you’ve met Mr. Darcy before?”
“More than met, Miss Elizabeth, more than met,” Wickham assured her.
She looked at him and waited to see if there was a story to follow, but he took that moment to sip from his teacup instead. Elizabeth could not help the sense of impatience that welled inside as she stared at Mr. Wickham and waited for him to speak.
“I’ve known him for many years, but you…you are acquainted with him?” Wickham nodded at her in a way which asked for permission to sit down next to her. Elizabeth moved away a little from the window. Mr. Wickham had, after all, confirmed to her that what Elizabeth had seen was not a ghost, that Mr. Darcy was in Meryton, though he had not called on her.
Perhaps Mr. Darcy di
d not know that this was her village and that Elizabeth lived here? Had she spoken to him about Meryton? She wasn’t certain how much she had discussed the place where she had grown up. Perhaps this was a wild coincidence, his being there. But if Mr. Wickham was there before her, confirming that he had seen Mr. Darcy, and said he knew Mr. Darcy, then Elizabeth must have seen him, just then, out on the street riding that gray horse. That meant she would see him soon. The other man must be the new neighbor, and Mr. Bingley would become known to the Bennet family soon enough.
But Elizabeth had to answer Mr. Wickham. “Yes, I met him this summer, in London as I mentioned. I met his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, at a ball. He, in turn, introduced Mr. Darcy to me.”
“How do you find the two cousins?” Mr. Wickham asked her.
“I like them both very much,” was her reply. “Colonel Fitzwilliam was so kind as to introduce me to his mother and sister.”
“Stately company indeed if you have met a countess!” Mr. Wickham asserted.
Elizabeth did not know quite what to make of that statement, whether he was envious, or whether Mr. Wickham was asserting something else. Was this some subtle accusation that Elizabeth was seeking company above her station, that she was a social climber?
“I only met the Countess of Langley twice, I believe. But I also believe I can claim Lady Emma Fitzwilliam as a friend after many weeks in her company,” asserted Elizabeth. “She sought me out while I was staying with my aunt and uncle in London.”
“You say that you saw a great deal of Darcy while you were in London?” Mr. Wickham asked.
“Yes. He was often an escort for Lady Emma,” Elizabeth explained. “It seemed Colonel Fitzwilliam was quite occupied in June. Something about issues with our former colonists, though of course, he could not speak of what was occurring at the time. It is only recently that I have learned about problems in the Americas and have clarified the picture of what occupied him back then.”
Mr. Wickham took a sip of his tea and appeared to have finished it as he put it down next to Elizabeth’s cup. “How do you find Mr. Darcy’s company?”
“I like him; it takes time to get to know him. He is not a man whose first impression is an easy one, but he grows on you.” Elizabeth gave Mr. Wickham a little smile, “more tea, Mr. Wickham?”
“No, I thank you.” He answered with a little sharp twist at the end of his voice. “I believe Mr. Matthews, Mr. Denny, and I have stayed long enough. We don’t wish to be social pariahs by overstaying our welcome.” Wickham called out to the other two officers and stated that they were over their time and really must step away, that the colonel must be looking for them. It was, after all, only his second day in the regiment.
Catherine and Lydia were unwilling to part with him, with Lydia declaring, “nobody minded such a thing, nobody would care if you stayed an extra ten minutes or even thirty to sit and talk!”
But the three officers left. It was then that their cousin, Mr. Collins, spoke up and exclaimed about what a delightful morning he had had, and the five Bennet sisters blinked in astonishment as they realized that they had entirely forgotten that they had a cousin visiting. That had been their entire reason for stepping out of the house that morning: the reason for Lydia and Kitty’s even being permitted to go.
They gathered Mr. Collins and their coats, stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, and headed home. Elizabeth thought over her conversation with this new militia officer. Though Mr. Wickham asserted he knew Mr. Darcy, they had never discussed how Wickham knew Mr. Darcy or how long ago he had become acquainted with that gentleman. Mr. Wickham had turned the tables of the conversation and asked her a lot of questions about the man without ever imparting any information of his own.
Elizabeth considered the sight she had seen out her aunt’s window: Mr. Darcy, and the man she supposed to be the new neighbor, Mr. Bingley. Rumors flew around the neighborhood about this young man. All the gentlemen had taken to calling on him, but would her father, Mr. Bennet, call?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Elizabeth, who was not one to bother her father about his social obligations, found herself in his bookroom the next day (for the breakfast table was not the place to ask such a question). Her sisters would probably have posed such a question at the dining table, but she was in want of a serious answer, not a teasing one, and Mr. Bennet would be more inclined to hedge and not give any sort of response if there was an audience.
But Elizabeth asked him if he had visited Mr. Bingley.
“Why should I be inclined to go visit some worthless young man who felt like renting Bartholomew’s property?” Mr. Bennet demanded, looking up from his book. Even though she had asked for permission to speak, and he had given it, it seemed that even without an audience, her father was to be evasive with his answers.
“But Papa, you must go visit Mr. Bingley; he is a new neighbor. Our obligations require us to welcome new neighbors,” pointed out Elizabeth.
“You sound just like your mother, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet. She wasn’t sure if he meant that as a compliment or a criticism.
Elizabeth tried again. “Shouldn’t it look odd, Papa, if all the other principal families in Meryton call upon Mr. Bingley, and Longbourn—which surely must be counted as one of the most important—has no representative going to welcome him to the neighborhood?”
“Representative! I see! The way you put it, it seems that anyone from the family might go! Why not go yourself to call on this Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet declared in clipped tones. Elizabeth appeared to have caught him on a bad day. His tolerance for social obligations waxed and waned, it seemed, almost as if with the phases of the moon. It was only a half moon currently. They had another se’ennight before the full moon and the next assembly ball.
“You know very well, Papa, that I cannot call on him. But I see that you are in no humor to discuss this,” she responded. Elizabeth tried another tactic. “It is to your benefit, you know.”
“My benefit?” Mr. Bennet looked up from his book at her.
Elizabeth had stood, and moved so far as the door, having her hand on the knob ready to leave, but she looked back at him. “You want to be rid of us, Papa. Who knows? Perhaps Mr. Bingley will fall in love with Jane and marry her. But only if you do the decent thing and call on him properly.” Elizabeth held his gaze as he wrestled with his obligations and his reading. But Mr. Bennet stared at her without responding.
“Perhaps he might prefer Mary?” Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow to tease him, just a little.
“Heaven help the man if he thinks Lydia is acceptable,” he asserted.
“She is fifteen, Papa. Give her time,” murmured Elizabeth.
“Give me time,” was her father’s reply. Elizabeth left it at that, and she left him to his books.
He did not say whether or not he would go, and he did not tell her whether or not he had gone. But Mr. Bennet, like Elizabeth, was not one for horseback. The next day, they heard he had gone somewhere in the carriage, and they could only surmise he had called on Mr. Bingley.
The sisters continued to be occupied with the entertainment of that visiting cousin and ensuring that he did not pester Mr. Bennet overly much during the next few days while waiting for Mr. Bingley to return the call. But a few days before the October assembly, the young man came to Longbourn.
The new neighbor rode over to pay a short visit to Mr. Bennet. He rode a black horse and appeared a fine-looking gentleman as near as the five of them could tell as they spied on him from Mary and Elizabeth’s room which looked down upon the front stoop.
Many of their friends and other female acquaintance had said their fathers and uncles and husbands had been calling on him and found him a charming, handsome, and genial man. The five Bennet sisters examined him as best they could from their vantage point. So far, Mr. Bingley had not appeared in church, either being so bold as to forsake services or having traveled elsewhere (for he had family come to see his new estate). It was assumed that he had been escorting t
hose visitors home.
There were rumors that though Mr. Bingley had had a large number of visitors his first se’ennight of residence, there might still be some friends remaining with him. They all wondered who and how many?
***
Only five new figures were sitting in the Netherfield pew the next Sunday. It surprised most of the congregation, and the sermon was entirely lost on everyone’s ears and minds. The Longbourn pew was near the front, so the Bennet daughters were not able to crane their heads and turn around to gawk as their neighbors were doing. They had to suffer with their eyes forward on Reverend White, but the rustling of fabric, shuffling of feet, and movement of bodies was a distraction (no one whispered but a few impertinent and very immature young women who were immediately shushed).
When the service was over, at last, Elizabeth rose to turn and look, shamelessly look for him, and he was there: Mr. Darcy. Not a figment of longing, some remembrance in her brain, but he had come to Meryton. Elizabeth had barely slept the night before, wondering if she was to see him again that day. What if he had merely come to wish his friend well on leasing an estate, and then returned to London or his estate, but had not stayed? Since speaking with Mr. Wickham at her aunt’s house, Elizabeth had been more introspective than ever, more hopeful, and yet without any hope at all that she would have the chance to encounter him again.
Her neighbors were against Elizabeth seeking him out as there were many others (who had also had the foresight to call on Mr. Bingley); they came to speak to him now as everyone exited the church. No one seemed inclined to return home to their Sunday dinners when there were introductions to be made. Usually, a church is not a place for social introductions, but no one cared just then; many wished to be the first to be introduced to Mr. Bingley’s friends, despite standing in a churchyard. The fact that the sky was crowded with dark clouds did not deter most neighbors.
Elizabeth underestimated her stepmother, who glided effortlessly through the crowd with her small, thin body to lead her stepdaughters towards her target. Mr. Collins, with his round belly, had a more difficult time navigating that company of neighbors in St. Albans and was left inside. But the Bennet family was introduced to Mr. Bingley and his party there in the churchyard, on the edge of the graveyard.
