by J P Christy
Meditating on the social whirl into which he had thrown himself, Darcy had difficulty differentiating between the various events. At the balls, the rooms were always too crowded and the unmarried ladies—well-dressed and well-coiffed though they were—seemed insipid. The conversations over dinner and afterward over brandy with the other men were predictable and shallow. The world—Darcy’s world—which had once seemed reassuringly settled now seemed stifling and small.
“You have ruined me, Elizabeth, and I do not thank you for it.” He spoke quietly as if she were sitting in the chair beside him. “You have held up a mirror to me and to the society in which I move. I cannot unhear your questions; I cannot forget your anger, which I am beginning to believe was justified. Perhaps if I make amends for the accusation of ungentlemanly interference you have laid at my door, I will free my mind of your charges against me.”
Darcy crossed to his desk, lit a candle, and wrote a letter to Charles Bingley. The younger man was endeared to him by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to Darcy’s own. As he wrote, it occurred to him that by revealing his part in separating Bingley from Jane, he risked losing his friend’s respect, and the idea of damaging their friendship was discomposing. Still, I must own what I have done; there is no other remedy.
11
“It was very nearly a disaster.”
May 8, 1811
On the same morning that an express rider carried Darcy’s letter to Bingley, the Gardiner’s carriage left London with Jane and Elizabeth. Upon arriving at the coaching inn where the sisters would transfer to the Bennet carriage, they found Lydia and Kitty watching for them from the open window in the inn’s upstairs dining room. As a surprise, their younger sisters had arrived an hour earlier and ordered nuncheon.
During the meal, Lydia announced, “Kitty and I meant to treat you, but while we waited, we visited the milliner, and I bought a bonnet, so you must lend us the money to pay for our food.”
Kitty rolled her eyes at Lydia and said, “I still have some money, for I made no purchases.”
With a nod of her head, Lydia indicated her new bonnet, which hung by its strings from the back of a nearby chair. “I do not think it is very pretty, but I decided I might as well buy it as not. When we are home, I will take it apart and try to make it better. Still, it will matter little what we wear this summer, as the militia is leaving in a few weeks for Brighton.”
Elizabeth felt a profound sense of relief; when the militia left, Wickham would go with it. But before she could comment, Lydia was speaking again. “Would it not be wonderful if Papa took us all to Brighton for the summer? Otherwise, how dull life will be!”
“Have you mentioned this to Papa?” Jane asked.
“Not yet. But Claire, Colonel Forster’s wife, has said she will be sorry not to have my lively company. Oh, and I have news about dear Wickham! As you know, when he began paying attention to Miss Mary King some weeks ago, we all thought what a waste it would be if he settled for such a nasty, freckled little thing, even with her inheritance of ten thousand pounds.”
Automatically, an image of Mary King appeared in Elizabeth’s mind: a slim, ginger-haired young lady whose diffident manner made her easy to overlook in a group of her peers preening for male attention. Upon the death of her mother (for her father had died when she was quite young), Miss King had become Meryton’s wealthiest heiress.
Kitty, eager to show what she knew, added, “But quite suddenly, Miss King’s uncle arrived from Liverpool to take her to live with his family.”
“Our Wickham is safe,” Lydia declared as if she had performed the rescue herself.
Better still, Miss King and her fortune are safe, Elizabeth thought. Anxious to turn the topic away from Wickham, she asked whether Lady Lucas was improving. Kitty said she and Mary had visited the Lucases very recently and that Lady Lucas had looked well enough. Kitty longed to ask Elizabeth about Charlotte and Mr. Collins, but she knew it would not be prudent to do so in front of her notoriously indiscreet youngest sister.
Following the meal, the Bennets called for their carriage. It was a close fit with their belongings, and Elizabeth was again thankful that Maria was not traveling with them, in part because of the lack of space and in part because of Lydia’s injudicious conversation. The youngest daughter chattered away as if silence were a thing to be avoided at all costs. “I had hoped at least one of you would return with a husband who had rich, handsome friends in need of wives. After all, Jane, you are nearly three-and-twenty; you will soon be on the shelf. I would be very ashamed if I am not married by the time I am the age you are now.”
“Getting a husband is not like buying a bonnet,” Jane said.
“And it is not as if you can improve a gentleman with the addition of a satin ribbon,” Elizabeth said.
“I had such fun at Claire Forster’s the other day!” Lydia chattered on. “She had promised to have a little dance, but one of the Harrington girls was ill, so we dressed Private Chamberlayne in women’s clothing to pass for a lady. It was great fun until Colonel Forster discovered it. He said it was not the job of his soldiers to dress as ladies for our amusement! What a bore he is! Still, I will find a way to endure his moods when I accompany him and Claire in Brighton. She has all but promised to invite me!”
With jokes and gossip of this ilk, Lydia talked all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth tried to ignore the chatter, but there was no escaping her sister’s frequent mention of Wickham.
Jane and Elizabeth were warmly welcomed at home, and their mother made a point of commending Jane for retaining her beauty despite the foul city air. “Oh, I do wish my dear brother and sister-in-law had been more diligent in introducing you around town,” Mrs. Bennet complained. “You were with the Gardiners since January, Jane, yet you met no eligible young men? The next time one of you girls visits London, I shall devise a way—done with subtlety, of course—to instill in the Gardiners a sense of urgency regarding the need to find you a match.”
Not knowing what reply she was expected to make, Jane wisely said nothing. Mrs. Bennet then demanded a recitation of the highlights of Jane’s and Elizabeth’s time away from home, despite the fact that both daughters had been dutiful correspondents. As Elizabeth had feared, Mrs. Bennet soon directed her discontented gaze at her least-favorite daughter. “And how was your visit, Lizzy? When you saw Hunsford Parsonage, did you regret your hasty refusal of Mr. Collins’s proposal, knowing that if you had done your duty by your family, you would be mistress of Longbourn once your dear Papa is no longer with us.”
Mr. Bennet viewed his wife from under raised brows. He was an odd mixture of parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice; the experience of more than two decades of marriage had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. In a mild voice, he rebuked, “I am still alive and well, madam. And consider the happy possibility that you may die before me. In such case, you will have nothing to worry about.”
Mrs. Bennet glared at her husband. “I wish William Collins had never been born! I am nearly overcome with anger that he and his greedy wife will one day claim my home.”
Elizabeth wanted to say Charlotte was not greedy, but she was in no mood to provoke an unwinnable argument. Several times in recent years, both she and Jane had tried to explain to their mother the nature of the entail of the family estate, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason.
Mr. Bennet said, “Were that so, wife, his brother Donald would inherit. Now, may we speak of something more cheerful? My girls, I am happy you are home. Tell me, Lizzy, what impressed you most about Rosings? The expensive chimney piece which Mr. Collins praised so rapturously when he visited last autumn? Lady Catherine’s condescension?” Though laconic in his expression of pleasure, he was gladdened by the return of his two oldest daughters; during their absence, he had keenly felt their importance to the family circle.
Kitty and Mary, having heard Mari
a’s account of Mr. Collins, were particularly keen to hear Elizabeth speak of her time at Rosings. Thus, they were disappointed when she simply replied, “The grounds at the estate provide many opportunities for beautiful rambles. And I do believe that having a few shelves in the closet, one of Lady Catherine’s innovations, is a useful thing.”
≈≈≈
May 9, 1811
The next morning as the two eldest Bennet daughters were dressing in the bedroom they shared, Elizabeth asked, “Will you walk with me to Meryton, Jane? I have set myself a task there, but we must keep this between ourselves—at least for now.”
“How mysterious! Is this part of devising a plan for finding a husband for one of us?”
“Not exactly. It is a quest for information.”
After a breakfast of tea and buttered bread, Jane and Elizabeth told their father they were off on an errand and would return before long. Unlike his wife, Mr. Bennet did not press them for details or demand that the younger girls join them, so by nine o’clock, the sisters were on their way.
Jane paused at the point where Longbourn’s rock-covered drive intersected with the road to Meryton. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, a satisfied look on her face. “I missed the freshness of our Hertfordshire air when I was in town.”
Elizabeth nodded. “We are country misses, Sister. I could not live all year in town.”
After they resumed walking, Elizabeth cautiously began her explanation of their errand. “There were hints and revelations at Rosings about Lieutenant Wickham. Mr. Darcy was quite adamant that Wickham is a very unscrupulous fellow.”
“Last year when Lieutenant Wickham told us how Mr. Darcy denied him the living at a parsonage in Derbyshire, I was certain there must have been some misunderstanding.”
“According to Miss Anne De Bourgh, a correspondent of Miss Georgiana Darcy—”
“The lady whom Caroline says her brother hopes to marry.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Allow me to share Anne’s words on that topic. In Georgiana’s letters, Mr. Bingley is mentioned only in reference to Mr. Darcy. If Georgiana holds an affection for Mr.
Bingley—or he for her—Anne does not know of it. Indeed, she doubts such a connection exists.”
For a full minute, Jane reflected on her conversations and correspondence with Bingley’s sister. “I am ashamed I was so deceived by Caroline!” she exclaimed with rare vehemence.
“I look forward to the time when you are angry with the lot of them, as then I shall know you no longer have a tendre for Mr. Bingley, who has proven himself unworthy of you.”
“And apparently we have another deceiver in our midst with Mr. Wickham—tell me about him.” Thus, Elizabeth shared Anne’s version of Wickham’s history with the Darcys; that, in fact, he had requested and received several thousand pounds in lieu of the living as parson, and he quickly squandered this generous sum on intemperate living.
“Shocking! To lie and to blame one’s reduced circumstances on a former friend!”
“There is more, and it is worse!” Elizabeth said. Then she told of Wickham’s attempt to elope with a young female. “Anne did not know the identity of the lady but said Darcy intervened, effectively rescuing her last summer, shortly before Mr. Wickham arrived to join the militia.”
“So it must have occurred in the days just before Mr. Darcy came to Hertfordshire, as well. Perhaps this unpleasant event contributed to his distant demeanor and mood.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “I had not considered that.”
“So, Lizzy, what are we about today?”
“Just as you feel ashamed about being deceived by the Bingleys, I feel ashamed about being deceived by Mr. Wickham, if what Anne said is true. Thus, I shall make casual inquiries about the lieutenant’s dealings in Meryton.”
“Ah, debts to merchants and the like,” Jane said. “And perhaps Mr. Wickham ran a tab at the Golden Swan.” The sisters looked at each other with a thought neither wished to say aloud. The Golden Swan, often referred to as simply “the Swan,” was a public house offering food and drink, which was usually served by Mrs. Sophie Palmer, the thirtyish widow of soldier.
Blushing, Elizabeth finally murmured, “Sophie?” For Mrs. Palmer was also the subject of rumors regarding personal services she was said to provide to supplement her meager income.
Struggling to suppress an embarrassed smile, Jane nodded. “Not that either of us knows anything a lady ought not to know.”
“Indeed, we do not! Let us start by asking Mr. Hobart about any tailoring work he may have done for Mr. Wickham.”
When Jane realized what might be expected of her, she gasped. “Oh, goodness, I am a terrible partner for subterfuge! My expressions are as easily read as a broadsheet.”
“Not so—why even Charlotte said your face is so serene that only those who know you well can discern a hint of your feelings.” And the foolishness of Mr. Bingley and his “rescue” by Mr. Darcy are proof of it, she thought sourly.
“How shall we begin the conversation?”
“Perhaps we could discuss the possibility of having a new waistcoat made for Papa; having seen fine fashions in London, we are considering purchasing one for him as a surprise.”
Jane nodded. “We can say we are inquiring about fabrics; thus, we have no measurements with us. Although Mr. Hobart likely has Papa’s information. But you must do the lion’s share of the talking, Lizzy. I will support you by agreeing and adding a detail or two, should that seem necessary.”
≈≈≈
Although Mr. Hobart was not in his shop, having gone to Lucas Lodge to do a fitting on Sir William, his wife was happy to help. In addition to keeping the accounts, she was routinely consulted for her thoughtful recommendations about styles and colors. Through the discussion of a new waistcoat for Mr. Bennet and general matters of business, Mrs. Hobart quickly understood the hinted-at risks of doing business with Wickham, who did, in fact, have an unpaid tab.
“I assumed Mr. Wickham would make good on his bill before the militia left for Brighton. My husband has been working on another coat for him there,” she gestured at an unfinished regimental jacket on a dressmaker’s dummy near the window. “You say it was Charlotte’s husband’s patroness’s daughter who warned you about Wickham when you visited Kent?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I did not know what to do with this intelligence, Mrs. Hobart, for I cannot attest to the truth of it. Yet when I saw that fine red jacket, I thought of Miss De Bourgh’s cautions. I was certain that if Mr. Wickham paid his bills in a timely manner, you would correct my misinformation.”
“Indeed, I would, Miss Elizabeth, for I am a truthful woman.”
“You are also our neighbor and our friend,” Jane said. “So, when Lizzy realized you might be defrauded, she knew her duty.”
“I wonder if there are other merchants in Meryton who are in danger of being duped?” Elizabeth mused innocently.
With an open palm, Mrs. Hobart patted her chest. “You may depend on me to ask the right questions of the right people.”
“That is a great relief, Mrs. Hobart,” Jane said.
“So, come back, ladies, when you have made up your minds about the waistcoat for your father, and Hobart’s will give you an excellent price.” Elizabeth and Jane thanked the tailor’s wife for her time and exited the store. Now that they were back among their neighbors in the town they knew best, neither was in a hurry to return home where they would be assailed by boredom and chaos in equal measures.
“We have done Meryton a good deed,” Elizabeth said.
“Do you have any money left from what Papa gave you when you visited Charlotte?”
“I do.”
“I still have money from my London trip. Shall we purchase Papa a waistcoat?”
“Yes, a fine Hobart waistcoat as a surprise.” Thus, before Elizabeth and Jane returned to Longbourn, they had placed their order with Mrs. Hobart and given her a down payment.
≈≈≈
May 10, 181
1
The following evening at dinner, Colonel Archibald Forster, commander of the ______shire militia, which was stationed in Meryton, obtained troubling information about one of his lieutenants from an unexpected source: his own wife.
Forster loved his young bride, Claire, although he found her company tedious when she lapsed into the bouts of silliness one might expect from an unmarried miss; such bouts tended to occur after her visits with Lydia Bennet. His wife’s friendship with Lydia had become a point of contention; thus, Forster was relieved that the militia’s relocation to Brighton would provide the added benefit of separating Claire from her foolish friend. Unfortunately, his wife had mentioned several times she would be so happy if Lydia joined them in Brighton, despite his admonition that the youngest Bennet lacked the maturity to be an appropriate companion.
Still, Forster appreciated Claire’s efforts to make a good impression on the people of Meryton. Only today, she had hosted a small gathering, a thank-you-and-farewell tea to which she had invited some of the ladies in the neighborhood. Over dessert, Forster inquired, “How was your soiree, sweetling? Were you pleased?” Privately, he expected a recitation of mundane gossip, with no real news to speak of, so her response surprised him.
“Oh, husband, it was very nearly a disaster, but it came out right in the end.”
Disaster? Was the tea too weak; were the scones too dry? he wondered. Suppressing a smile, he assured her, “I am all ears.”
“First, I must admit that you were right, and I was wrong. Lydia Bennett does not have the maturity to comport herself in a manner befitting a guest of the commander of a militia. And she is very, very rude! Fortunately, her sisters were present to take her in hand. Second, I would not have Lydia accompany us to Brighton for all the world!”
Forster did not know whether he was more pleased to have his wife declare him right or that she no longer wanted Lydia Bennet to join them; he merely thanked Providence. “What did Miss Lydia say? Or was it something she did?”
