Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  “Well, I was speaking with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She recently returned from visiting Charlotte Luc—uh, Mrs. Collins in Kent. Mr. Collins, a cousin of the Bennets, is the parson at Rosings, which is the estate of Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Anyway, while there, Miss Elizabeth heard troubling accounts of Lieutenant George Wickham.”

  Ah, another bad report about the rogue. “From whom did she receive this information?”

  “Miss Elizabeth was very circumspect, as is her nature, but said Miss Anne De Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s daughter, is acquainted with Wickham. Miss Anne is cousin to Mr. Darcy, that proud man who visited Netherfield Park last fall.”

  “Wickham has often spoken of his mistreatment at the hands of Mr. Darcy.”

  “Yes, as I reminded Miss Elizabeth. She said—although she felt she could not provide details—the truth of the matter was that Mr. Darcy was more victim than villain.”

  “I am not surprised; I always suspected there was more to the story than Wickham said.”

  “Miss Elizabeth also mentioned murmurings from local merchants about unpaid bills. She believes it would be most unfair if the excellent reputation of the militia—a reputation for which she gives you full marks, dear—was sullied by the ungentlemanly behavior of a single soldier.”

  Forster smiled to hear Elizabeth’s compliment of him. “She is an intelligent young lady.”

  “But then, disaster! Apparently, Lydia overheard us, and she stormed over, accusing Elizabeth of jealousy because Wickham had switched his attentions from her to Mary King.”

  “Who?” For his wife’s sake, Forster did his best, but he sometimes had difficulty keeping track of the young ladies of Meryton.

  “Mary King is the local miss who inherited ten-thousand pounds recently. Last year, Wickham often singled out Miss Elizabeth at social events, but lately he seemed to prefer Miss King’s company. Well, Miss Elizabeth just laughed at her sister’s accusation. By that time, the other Bennet girls had come over, and they all agreed Lydia’s claim was nonsensical. I believe them, for when Wickham paid court to Miss King, Miss Elizabeth gave no sign that she minded.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Lydia insisted we were all against her ‘dear Wickham’ who is the handsomest, bravest, most charming gentleman in uniform! She said—shouted, really—that she would not listen to our slanders, and she stomped out of the room. Goodness, she was a toddler having a tantrum! Even if she apologizes, I will never see her in the same light as I once did.”

  I am going to hold you to that, Forster thought but, wisely, did not say so. “Lydia is too young, Claire. You are a married woman … a colonel’s lady. I am sorry she ruined your soiree.”

  “The other Bennet girls apologized for her, and their kind attentions calmed us all; they left shortly after. Miss Maria Lucas was also at my party, and she had been in Kent with Miss Elizabeth. When I asked if she had heard the stories about Wickham, she said she had not but that Miss Anne De Bourgh had spent much time with Miss Elizabeth, so their sharing a confidence

  was very likely.”

  At the thought of Maria, Claire smiled. “Miss Lucas told me she learned a great deal during her visit and offered to show me Lady Catherine’s recommended style of packing gowns. I confess I never spoke much with Miss Lucas before today—no doubt because Lydia was demanding everyone’s attention—but she is delightfully genteel and sensible.”

  Claire’s hand was resting on the dining table, and Forster took it and kissed it fondly. “I am proud of you. Some ladies would have taken to their beds for a week after that fuss.”

  “Thank you, dearest. All the guests graciously agreed that any shame was Lydia’s to bear. I am simply glad to have seen her true colors.” Frowning with concern, Claire added, “Speaking of ‘true colors,’ I cannot help but wonder about Lieutenant Wickham.”

  “Yes, I believe some investigating is in order.” Forster did not mention his letter from Mr. Darcy with a similar report.

  ≈≈≈

  May 11, 1811

  On Saturday morning, Elizabeth wrote to Anne De Bourgh to say that she was safely back at home and had mentioned Wickham’s reputation to both the wife of his commander and a local merchant. Afterward, she settled on the bench in the garden and was hemming handkerchiefs when Mary came and sat beside her.

  “I am happy you and Jane are back.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her sister. “I am happy to be home.”

  “When Kitty and I visited Maria, she said she would never marry a man like Mr. Collins.”

  “Well, we can only hope that men of his ilk are few and far between.”

  “Last year, I did not understand why you would reject him. I even thought that if he offered for me, I would accept. Now I can only thank God’s mercy for sparing both of us such a fate.”

  Well, God’s mercy or our good sense. She patted Mary’s hand. “Amen.”

  “Will you join me in visiting the Laidlaws this afternoon?”

  “Is something amiss with the family? Do we need to tell Papa?” Elizabeth was fond of the Laidlaws, who had been Longbourn’s tenants for years; their three children had been born here.

  “No, no, nothing dire,” Mary hurriedly assured her. “Mr. Laidlaw’s back is paining him again, so Mrs. Laidlaw’s nephew has come to help the family for awhile. I have not seen the family since the nephew arrived, and I thought it would be nice if we visited.”

  “Of course. Shall we bring flowers?” Mrs. Laidlaw’s gardens were full of vegetables; thus, when the Bennets visited, they typically brought a bouquet. Nudging Mary’s shoulder, Elizabeth added, “Perhaps some of Aunt Phillips’s elderberry cordial, as well? How old is this nephew?”

  “I have not seen him, but Papa says he is newly ordained.”

  Perhaps, I will be the only Bennet daughter who is a spinster, Elizabeth thought, but she knew better than to tease her least-humorous sister about wanting to meet a marriageable man. “I suggest we bring flowers and a small bottle of cordial, as it may ease Mr. Laidlaw’s back pains. Will you make a bouquet?”

  “Yes,” Mary embraced her before jumping up to attend to her task. Abruptly, she paused to look at Elizabeth. “I am very happy that you are back.”

  ≈≈≈

  Mary had been reminded often enough that she was not as pretty as Jane or as witty as Elizabeth or as lively as Lydia. As for comparisons to Kitty, Mary was grateful not to have her sister’s frequent cough, although she knew this was not a true achievement. Instead, Mary numbered as her accomplishments her ability to play the pianoforte, her knowledge of Christian scripture, and her practicality. So convinced was she of her immunity to fanciful notions, she did not know how to describe what she felt when she first glimpsed Allen Ainsworth. Only much later, when she lay in bed unable to sleep, did she suspect her feelings might be love at first sight.

  It was a sunny afternoon when Elizabeth and Mary walked to the tenant farm. From the path, they saw Mrs. Laidlaw weeding her vegetable patch while her eight-year-old daughter Cassandra was encouraging baby Becky in her toddling walk. Four-year-old Martin sat on the broad shoulders of a stocky, red-haired man of about twenty. The man was of medium height, easily tall enough to enable Martin to pick the early peaches the man pointed to in the branches above them.

  Cassandra saw the Bennets first and called, “Hello, Miss Lizzy, Miss Mary. Look, Becky is walking!”

  Mrs. Laidlaw rose and brushed the dirt from her hands. “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, how nice to see you. Allen, come meet the Bennets.”

  Upon hearing the greetings, the man turned and smiled—and Mary felt her heart skip a beat. Allen Ainsworth had an open, cheerful air and did not seem to notice that Mary stammered her greeting. He said, “Your father was kind enough to call a few days ago, so I am happy to meet more of the fine family Aunt Tessa talks of.”

  Just as the introductions were completed, a man’s voice bellowed from the small barn that sheltered the Laidlaw’s cows. “Have those troublesome Bennet ladi
es come a-knocking? Such bad luck they are!” A moment later, Owen Laidlaw, a tall man in his late thirties, emerged from the barn. He was followed by Bailey, an old mixed-breed hound who greeted the visitors with a deep-throated, friendly “wuf.”

  The ladies laughed at Mr. Laidlaw’s fierce expression. “But, sir,” Elizabeth said, “we have some of Aunt Phillips’ elderberry wine, guaranteed to soothe your back pain.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to offend your Aunt Phillips by refusing her wine,” he grinned.

  “Allen, take the bottle into the house, please; my hands are dirty,” Mrs. Laidlaw said.

  After giving Ainsworth the bottle, Elizabeth nudged Mary and murmured, “Flowers.” Blushing, Mary handed the young man her bouquet.

  “May I bring chairs for you?” he asked.

  “Thank you, no. Clearly, you are all hard at work. We just wished to introduce ourselves,” Elizabeth said. With a nod, Ainsworth took the items into the house, careful to stoop as he entered so as not to dislodge Martin from his shoulders.

  “I heard you visited Miss Luc—I mean Mrs. Collins,” Mrs. Laidlaw said. “Is she well?”

  “She is. When next I write, I will tell her you asked after her.”

  “The christening gown she sewed for little Becky was so beautifully embroidered that whenever I think of Mrs. Collins, I am reminded of that gown.”

  “Charlotte has made a lovely home, and she is well regarded by her husband’s parishioners,” Elizabeth said.

  Ainsworth and Martin rejoined the little group. “I’ve put the flowers in water, Aunt.”

  “Miss Elizabeth has been visiting a friend who married her cousin, a Mr. Collins. He is the parson for a Lady Catherine De Bourgh in Kent,” Mr. Laidlaw said.

  “I look forward to being settled in my own parsonage one day.”

  Mary said, “It is kind of you to help your aunt and uncle, sir.”

  In a theatrical whisper, Ainsworth said, “I really just came to play with my little cousins.”

  Utterly charmed, Mary gave him a heartfelt smile, something few had ever seen. Mr. Allen Ainsworth is at ease with strangers; he is kind; he is handsome; he is a clergyman!

  Elizabeth touched her arm. “Come, Mary. We have interrupted their work long enough. We shall see you all at church.” After exchanging farewells, Elizabeth returned to the path leading home; Mary bestowed a last look upon Ainsworth and waved shyly before following her sister.

  “Miss Mary has a pretty smile,” Ainsworth said to no one in particular.

  Kneeling again in her garden, Mrs. Laidlaw remarked, “She is said to be the most pious and the plainest of the Bennet girls.”

  “Of her piety, I have no doubt for I sensed it in her manner, but that Miss Mary should be thought plain? With a smile such as hers? I cannot believe it.”

  “Aye, she’s got a nice enough smile,” Mr. Laidlaw agreed, “but I’ve not seen it above a dozen times over the years.” Off his nephew’s puzzled expression, he added, “She usually saves her smiles for the young ones and old Bailey here.” He gave the dog’s head an affectionate scratch. “That you have seen her smile so at your first meeting is a miracle, I reckon.”

  Mrs. Laidlaw made a scolding click with her tongue. “Don’t blaspheme, Owen.”

  12

  “That seems an inadequate penance.”

  May 12, 1811

  Following Sunday services in Meryton, Mary lingered with her sisters in the churchyard, trying not to stare at Ainsworth, who stood with his relatives talking to Parson Gannett. Observing his pleasant manner, she admired the friendly confidence with which he carried himself. Suddenly, his eyes met hers, and she looked away, blushing.

  “Miss Mary,” Ainsworth called, “a moment, please.”

  Oh, dear, as soon as he sees Jane and Lydia, he will realize all the things that I am not! Must I lose his attention so soon? Mary wondered as he approached the Bennet daughters.

  “Is he the Laidlaw’s nephew?” Lydia asked. “He would look handsome in regimentals.”

  “I think he looks handsome now,” Kitty said.

  “People are more than their appearance,” Jane said gently.

  Hat in hand, Ainsworth beamed at the Bennets. “Good day, ladies. Miss Mary, would you be so kind as to introduce me?”

  Suppressing a sigh, Mary introduced her sisters in order of age. “My sister Jane, my sister Kitty, and my sister Lydia.” The Bennet daughters curtsied, and Ainsworth bowed.

  Elizabeth said, “It is nice to see you again, sir.”

  Jane said, “We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Kitty said, “Welcome to Meryton.”

  Lydia asked, “Are you truly a parson? Were I a man, I would join the army and wear a beautiful red jacket.”

  Ainsworth laughed. “Ah, Miss Lydia, becoming a parson is akin to answering a call of duty, although the field of my battles has considerably less artillery.”

  After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Elizabeth, Jane, Kitty, and Lydia took their leave to begin the mile-long walk back to Longbourn. Mary gave Ainsworth a sad smile and started to follow, but his voice stopped her. “Your sisters seem quite nice.”

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling miserable.

  “I would like your opinion—” he began, but Mary interrupted.

  “Do you not think Jane is beautiful?” she asked.

  “Miss Jane would be,” he paused, trying to remember, “ah, yes, the eldest, as I believe you introduced your sisters in order of age. All the Bennet daughters are lovely in their own way, just as every flower is lovely in its own way,” he added, flushing slightly.

  “Th-thank you,” Mary stammered. Could it be … does Mr. Ainsworth consider me to be the equal of my sisters?

  “I wanted to ask your opinion of the sermon. This is only the first I have had the pleasure of hearing since coming to Meryton.”

  “Parson Gannett is a kindly man,” Mary said cautiously. Although a bit too forgiving for my taste.

  Ainsworth nodded slowly. “Yes, a kindly man—that was my impression. He speaks as a wise uncle might. Someone who understands the challenges and temptations of our earthly life. I have met some parsons, and more than a few parishioners, who believe their love for God requires them to disapprove of any whom they consider to be less devout than themselves. Your parson is not such a man—nor am I. There is enough disapprobation in the world; I do not need to add my condemnation for minor transgressions. In my experience, the most vocal censors tend to offer criticisms which are rooted more in the opinions of man than in the strictures of God.”

  “Let he who is without sin among ye cast the first stone,” Mary murmured.

  Ainsworth smiled warmly. “Exactly! I see you share my view.”

  Mary blushed and made a single nod, thinking, No, sir, but I am willing consider it henceforth.

  ≈≈≈

  On Sunday evening when Georgiana joined Darcy and his guest in the parlor, she was troubled by what she saw; Mr. Charles Bingley did not have the glow of health and good humor she had always associated with him. He was thin, and his smile seemed perfunctory. While she was happy her brother’s dinner invitation had not included Bingley’s insincere sisters, she wondered if their guest’s demeanor was due to troubles within his family. Offering her hand, she said, “Dear Mr. Bingley, it has been too long.”

  “Several months at least. I have been in Derwent on family business.”

  “I hope your family is well,” Georgiana said.

  “Quite well. Perhaps I should have just said business.”

  “And how is business?” Darcy asked.

  “Also quite well. I confess I felt myself in need of distraction.”

  “Would it be impolite to ask why?” Georgiana gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Yes,” Darcy said, startled at her boldness. “We should assume it is a private matter which our guest may not wish to discuss.”

  “From you, Miss Darcy, I would consider the inquiry to be that of a co
ncerned friend.”

  “I assure you, sir, this is exactly as I intended it.”

  “Everything is fine with me,” Bingley said unconvincingly.

  Everything is not fine with you, Georgiana thought, unaware her brother shared her belief. Before more could be said, Ashton announced dinner, so Bingley offered his arm to Georgiana. “Allow me to escort my lovely hostess.”

  “Thank you.” She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Mrs. Annesley is having a tray in her room. She says it is time I served as hostess without her looking over my shoulder. For a few months now, I have consulted with Cook regarding our meals and have taken on the management of various household matters.”

  Neither Bingley nor Georgiana noticed Darcy’s surprised expression. Still, Darcy suspected she might be exaggerating, for he believed she was too young to take on the responsibility of being his hostess, even with a guest such as Bingley. Yet as the dinner progressed, Darcy had to admit Georgiana was as competent as she was gracious. He relaxed, realizing that she had grown into a capable young woman in the nearly ten months’ time since he had rescued her from Wickham. Some of her confidence likely comes from her long acquaintanceship with Bingley.

  “Brother and my cousin Christopher are recently returned from a visit to Rosings.”

  “Ah, yes, and how is Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  “Very well,” Darcy answered.

  “Are Lady Catherine and her daughter in health, too?” Bingley asked politely.

  “They are,” Darcy said.

  Georgiana said, “My cousin Anne has made a new friend, a lady whom you know—a Miss Bennet from Hertfordshire.”

  Upon hearing the name “Bennet,” Bingley choked on the spoonful of trifle he had just put in his mouth. Noting his look of distress, Georgiana and Darcy exchanged surprised glances. After patting his lips with his napkin, Bingley said in a strained voice, “Yes, I know Miss Bennet. A lovely young woman.” Addressing Darcy, he asked, “Is she well?”