Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  Lady Catherine gave her daughter a shocked look. “You called her ‘Elizabeth’? And I suppose you permitted her to call you by your Christian name!”

  “I felt it was the Christian thing to do,” Anne said, amused by her own mild impertinence.

  “Then I am doubly glad the country chit is gone!” She gave a loud sniff to indicate the distasteful topic was closed and set a new direction for the conversation. “In past years, Anne, you have gone to Bath to recover your spirits after the disappointment of another year without a proposal from Darcy.”

  “Perhaps this year could be a celebration of our having finally resolved the issue.”

  “Perhaps this year, you could find a husband in Bath,” her mother countered.

  Anne brightened visibly. At least Nora and I will still have our holiday there. “I am sure Bath would seem an entirely new experience if I were to visit with marriage in mind.”

  Lady Catherine said. “We shall leave for Kesteven Place in one week.” Kesteven Place, a townhouse near Queen Square, had been in the Fitzwilliam family for four generations, and Lady Catherine had often spent summers there as a girl. The property had been inherited by her brother, Wesley Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Kesteven, but neither he nor his wife nor children visited there above once every few years. Thus, the earl was happy to have Anne and Lady Catherine make use of the place whenever they wished.

  After exchanging wary glances with Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne asked hesitantly, “You will be joining Mrs. Jenkinson and me, Mama? But you do not care for Bath. When we go there, you usually remain here or go to London to renew your wardrobe.”

  “Needs must, Anne. I still have friends in Bath. Besides, you have visited there for years without meeting anyone whom you preferred to Darcy. Under my guidance, at best you will find a husband. At worst, you will have gained practice.”

  “Practice?”

  “Practice at being charming; practice at talking with gentlemen. And if you cannot find a match in Bath, we will travel on to London in July to look at the prospects.”

  “London in summer? Will anyone be there?” Anne asked, hoping she did not sound as alarmed as she felt. “Would it not be better to wait until after the best families return from their country estates?”

  “You are six-and-twenty! If you and Darcy will not wed, you must marry elsewhere. Surely you realize that.”

  “Of course. However, I assumed that we would go to town in October or November.”

  “Perhaps sooner if you fail to charm a worthy gentleman in Bath. I am determined in this; there is no reason you cannot be engaged by year’s end.” When her daughter said nothing, Lady Catherine added, “Everything I do, I do for you and Rosings.”

  ≈≈≈

  In the bedroom Elizabeth and Jane shared in the Gardiner home, the Bennet sisters were changing from their Sunday clothes into something more suitable for taking their young cousins to the park. Elizabeth said, “While I wish no misfortune on Lady Lucas, I am happy Maria is not here with us. I prefer spending my time with you and the Gardiners rather than worrying whether we have entertained a guest sufficiently. Depending on the turn of our family conversations, we were likely either to bore the poor girl or shock her into insensibility.”

  Jane considered her sister from under a raised eyebrow. “In my letters, I was quite faithful in recounting my activities. Yet I suspect you may have omitted some interesting tidbits about Rosings in your correspondence.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Some thoughts I did not wish to commit to paper. For example, the more I saw of Mr. Collins, the less I liked him. Charlotte manages him well enough—and with much more courtesy than he deserves. Still, he is bully and a bore.”

  “It is appalling that he preached a scolding sermon at you in which he referenced a gospel he had fabricated for such purpose.”

  “I was glad neither Mr. Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam was there to witness it. And I beg you not to speak of it at Longbourn, as I did not mention it in my letters to home.”

  “Was Mr. Darcy more amiable in Kent than he was in Meryton last autumn?”

  “Oh, Jane, I do not think it possible for anyone to be less amiable than Mr. Darcy was last year,” Elizabeth declared. What can I tell her? I cannot reveal his proposal without explaining my rejection, and I cannot explain my rejection without mentioning Mr. Bingley.

  “Did he gaze at you with that disapproving glare he does so well?” Jane teased.

  “Often.” She knew she was being unfair by not divulging that Darcy’s stare was one of admiration, but she could think of no way to clarify his behavior without inviting unwanted questions. “However, his cousins, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Anne De Bourgh, were delightful. I had many happy conversations with Anne and her companion, Nora Jenkinson. Nora is very intelligent but very reserved; I suspect it is her best defense against the supercilious Lady Catherine.”

  “Did Mr. Darcy mention the Bingleys?” Jane asked hesitantly.

  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! What do I say now? Keeping her tone light, Elizabeth replied, “No, no one did. Not even Charlotte. Out of sight, out of mind, I daresay.” Taking one of Jane’s hands in hers, she asked, “It has been more than five months since the Netherfield ball, dearest—is Mr. Bingley much in your thoughts?”

  “We had no understanding; he made no promises. I suspect I misunderstood his intentions.”

  “You are too kind to him! He singled you out and was prodigiously attentive from September through November. It is he who misunderstood his own intentions, his own heart. His behavior was beyond the pale; I will not countenance your defense of any of the Bingleys!”

  “You are very cruel to a heartbroken sister, who regretfully concedes that you are probably correct.” Then Jane added quickly, “You know I jest about being heartbroken.”

  Yet I think you are. Oh Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, I despise you both! Elizabeth thought.

  “Lizzy?” Jane asked, patting her sister’s hand.

  She gave Jane a bright smile. “This summer, let us rally our spirits and devise a plan to get at least one Bennet daughter married before year’s end. I know not what lies ahead, but I am confident we can create a secure future for the Bennet daughters.”

  “Very well, I am with you. But Lizzy, why do you need to rally your spirits?”

  “Well, I suppose my spirits are fine,” she stammered. “I do not know why I said that.”

  ≈≈≈

  On Sunday afternoon, Anne guided the phaeton along a remote path at the edge of Rosings; she needed this distance from the manor to feel secure in speaking her thoughts. “I am worried about what Mama said at breakfast. If she comes to Bath, Nora, we will not have the respite we have enjoyed in past years. I am almost inclined to pretend an illness so we may avoid going.”

  “But you must not. Else she would devise a marriage strategy that would likely be worse than your attending a few balls and concerts. Anne, even if your mother accompanies us, she will not spend every moment managing you. She has a few friends there whom she will wish to see. You must simply convince her that if she hovers, she will drive away eligible suitors.”

  “I have no desire to marry; I have no need to marry! You understand this. You understand me! Yet my own mother cares nothing for my feelings!”

  “Perhaps the hand of Providence is in this moment. Keep in mind she cannot legally force you to wed, nor can she take Rosings from you. Your position is stronger than you believe.”

  “Tell me what to do,” Anne begged, tears filling her eyes.

  “Bide your time until the moment is right. And I suggest you reacquaint yourself with the terms of your father’s will. Also, consider reaching out to your cousins to learn who in the family will support you should the situation with your mother come to open conflict. Try viewing your situation as a chess game; imagine her ladyship’s likely moves so that you can be prepared with countermoves. Have you considered consulting a legal expert regarding what actions you might take?”

  “Cons
ulting a legal expert would be like declaring war on Mama; there would be no going back.”

  “No going back to what, dear friend? I believe it is time for you to go forward.”

  ≈≈≈

  In London that afternoon, the Bennet sisters walked in Hyde Park with the Gardiner children. While Jane walked ahead with the two girls, aged six and eight, Elizabeth oversaw the meanderings of the two boys, both younger than their sisters. Yet her attention was divided between watching the boys and deciding what to reveal of her time at Rosings.

  I wish I could tell Jane that Mr. Bingley’s departure was not because of anything she did or did not do. After all, it is a gentleman’s place to declare his feelings first. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and the Bingley sisters overestimated his interest in Jane. Or perhaps Mr. Bingley did care for Jane, but he lacked the confidence to declare himself. If he lacks confidence, does he have a weak character, or is it merely a matter of immaturity—a fault time should cure—that condemns him to be buffeted about by the opinions of others? In that case, he would have my pity rather than my censure, but he would not be worthy of my sister.

  Of course, until Jane confides in me, I cannot be certain she still has a tendre for Mr. Bingley, but if she does, would she want to be told that her serene demeanor may have cost her a chance at her heart’s desire? Or would such intelligence compound her misery? Suppose Jane had been more obvious as to her interest in Mr. Bingley? No doubt his sisters would have redoubled their efforts to separate Jane from their brother, insisting she was too forward to be respectable.

  As for Mr. Darcy’s influence … oh, the arrogance of that meddling man! That he was incapable of recognizing both Jane’s fond feelings for Mr. Bingley and my less-than-fond feelings for himself! He has earned both my pity and my censure!

  At these thoughts, Elizabeth felt her cheeks bloom scarlet. Calm, I must think calmly! Look at the trees and flowers. Listen to the birds. Breathe deeply …. Illogical! He is so illogical! Mr. Darcy encouraged Mr. Bingley’s defection in November, yet despite my having the same familial and societal deficiencies as my sister, he proposed to me! And yet, I am reluctant to reveal his role in Jane’s disappointment; I do not wish her to think so very badly of him. Is that not illogical, too?

  Did Mr. Darcy read my letter, or did he tear it into tiny bits and let the wind pull them from his fingers while he draped his hand out of the open window of his carriage as it rushed him away from Rosings? Oh, I can just picture his smug smile at his escape from the clutches of the unsuitable Elizabeth Bennet! But perhaps he did read my letter. And perhaps he reflected on it … briefly … before consigning it to the nearest fireplace. What if he saw some truth in my words? What if he found value in my observations? What if—

  Jane’s voice interrupted Elizabeth’s musings. “Lizzy, I fear little Clarence is about to chase that duck into the Serpentine.”

  “Oh, dear, I was woolgathering! Clarence, step back from the water this instant!”

  ≈≈≈

  May 6, 1811

  As master of the estate of Longbourn, Mr. Bennet preferred to take refuge in his study rather than provide a model of restraint and steady guidance to his wife and children. The Bennet household was not known as a place for peaceful contemplation. While all five daughters bore some responsibility for the often-chaotic environment—as did their excitable mother—it was the antics of fifteen-year-old Lydia that typically sparked the turmoil.

  A stout, well-grown girl with a fine complexion and good-humored countenance, Lydia had high animal spirits and a sort of natural self-consequence that blossomed under the attention of the militia officers quartered in the nearby town of Meryton. However, in the absence of Jane and Elizabeth, she had become quite demanding, as if to make up for some deficit in the attention she felt was due to her.

  For Kitty, the fourth in age of the Bennet daughters, the absence of Elizabeth and Jane had revealed what an exhausting creature Lydia was with her provocative remarks. In the past month, Kitty found herself pulling away from Lydia, from whom she had once been inseparable; she had even resorted to spending time with her father in his study, where they read and had brief conversations.

  Mary, the middle Bennet daughter, had never felt herself to be a kindred spirit of Lydia’s. As the plainest of the five, she worked hard for her accomplishments, specifically in the areas of music and moral rectitude. In response to her youngest sister’s clamorous behavior, she spent more time reading religious tracts and practicing the pianoforte, a skill she was always eager to display.

  On this particular morning, two days before Elizabeth and Jane were due to return, Mrs. Bennet was discussing the coming week’s menus with Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, while Mr. Bennet was reviewing Longbourn’s expenses for the previous month. (The rest of the family took pains to avoid him at these times.) Thus, Mary was practicing a hymn by Purcell, happy for the sheet music Jane had sent her from London, while Kitty sat at the large table in the parlor, preparing to trim an old bonnet with a new ribbon.

  Like a capricious breeze that annoyed by tugging at skirt hems and hat brims, Lydia flounced in. “How dreary the day is, and it’s not yet noon!”

  “I find it quite peaceful,” Kitty said.

  “Peaceful? With Mary playing that dirge? Truly, Mary, your time would be better spent practicing reels and other dances. The last time you played at Lucas Lodge, your tempo dragged a bit.”

  Anticipating more criticisms, Mary stiffened her spine and began to play louder. Lydia drifted around the room, pausing first at the window, then at the fireplace (where no fire burned owing to the warmth of the day), and finally at the table where Kitty sat. For a moment, Lydia simply observed, but just as Kitty reached for her new ribbon, Lydia snatched it away, saying, “This will look ever so much better on my bonnet when I wear my pink dress.”

  “Give that back!” Kitty squealed.

  “Are you going to make a fuss over a silly bit of trim?” Lydia challenged.

  With a loud chord, Mary crashed into the conversation. “Why shouldn’t Kitty make a fuss? You are.”

  Kitty rose to confront a smirking Lydia, who was at least two inches taller. “I wish you would stop treating me as if what I wanted did not matter. Why are you so rude—and so mean?”

  “Nonsense. I am lively and outspoken,” Lydia said. “It is my particular talent to declare honestly what the rest of you are too missish to say. Thus, I am neither rude nor mean.”

  “There was no kindness in your words about my music!” Mary declared, closing the pianoforte.

  “As if you do not judge me with your every look,” Lydia retorted. “Let she who is without sin among ye cast the first stone.”

  Mary gave her sister a judged-you-and-found-you-wanting look before striding out of the parlor; her exit was quickly followed by the sound of the front door slamming. Although Lydia had enjoyed the momentary excitement, she was disappointed that half of her audience was now gone. Dropping the ribbon onto the table, she said, “Here. Take it.”

  “I will take it; it’s mine.”

  When Kitty sat, Lydia leaned on the chair next to hers. “It is you who have been unkind to me. You used to go with me every-where. Now you scarcely pay me any notice. I am bored. Perhaps I will make over one of my old bonnets with you.”

  Knowing that Lydia would take all the best trims for herself, Kitty said, “If you are bored, it is a problem of your own making. Read a book. Take a walk. Talk with Mama; you are her favorite.” She began gathering up the bits and bobs of her work.

  Lydia smiled. “Mama says I remind her of when she was young and pretty.”

  “Mama is still pretty.”

  “But she isn’t young. And anyway, Mama favors Jane as much as she favors me.”

  “Mama hopes Jane’s beauty will attract a rich husband, saving us from being flung into the hedgerows when Papa dies. And, yes, Mama speaks of you as if she can again experience her youth through your high spirits. But as for Mary, Lizzy, and me, we find littl
e enough approval in this household,” Kitty said, warming to a topic that had been much on her mind of late.

  “Why shouldn’t Mama find joy in my popularity? Besides, Papa favors Lizzy—as you well know. And Jane was Bingley’s favorite, although she could not keep his interest. Had Mr. Bingley turned his eye to me, I am quite certain he would have proposed. But how could I marry any man who was not dressed in regimen-tals?” Lydia gave a theatrical sigh.

  “So, Jane was—and still may be—Mr. Bingley’s favorite, as he has not given up the lease at Netherfield. And Mary, I suppose, is the Lord’s favorite. But where does that leave me?”

  While Lydia contemplated the question as if it had an answer, Kitty scooped up her bonnet and trims and stormed out.

  ≈≈≈

  After storing her possessions safely beyond Lydia’s reach—or so Kitty hoped—she went into the garden in search of fresh air and quiet. Seeing Mary sitting on the bench amid the bluebells, she joined her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “I enjoyed listening to your hymn.”

  Mary leaned in to touch her head briefly to Kitty’s. “Thank you. I have been trying to recall a time when Lydia was pleasant to be around. She was rather adorable when she was in leading strings, but don’t tell her I said so. Yet even before Mama allowed her to be out in society, Lydia was quite prideful and not at all the way Scripture says a female should be.”

  Kitty sighed. “I should like to get away from Longbourn for awhile.” Placing her hands behind her on the bench, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sun. “From the letters we received from Maria Lucas and Lizzy, I cannot say I wish I had gone to Hunsford Parsonage, but can you imagine what it might be like if, for a little while, we were the only two Bennet girls?”

  Mary closed her eyes, too, and smiled as she contemplated that. “Eventually, I would miss Lizzy’s wit and Jane’s warmth,” she said, but only after a full minute had passed.

  “Let us go Lucas Lodge,” Kitty suggested. “I have only seen Maria once since she returned.”