Elizabeth scowled at her mother “Bingley might call for his own carriage to send her back; then your scheme would come to nothing.”
“Oh! Not likely. Bingley is half in love with Jane already, he will be eager to have her there. Besides the gentlemen will have taken Mr. Bingley’s chaise to dine with the officers, and there will be no horses for the Hurst’s carriage. At the very least they will now see each other.”
There was a burst of noise as the tempo of the rain increased, and Elizabeth heard the waterfall pouring off the eaves. It was gray and foreboding. Time and years of controlling her own life had dissipated much of Elizabeth’s anger at her mother, but Mrs. Bennet’s smile as she stood in a well heated room, wrapped comfortably in her warm blue shawl, while dear Jane was out in the rain reminded Elizabeth of all the reasons she had to dislike her mother. “It was ill done. Very ill done. You ought not have sent Jane out uncovered in this weather.”
“I merely wish the best for my daughter.”
Angry words bubbled up in Elizabeth’s mind and she pushed them down, ‘you merely wish what is best for your own consequence’. She did not wish to be a woman who shouted with her mother. Instead Elizabeth retreated to her study. Mrs. Bennet had learned long ago Elizabeth would tolerate being followed there no more than her father would have.
Though she normally took pleasure in the view from her window, now all she felt was worry. It was very wet. Certainly Jane was well, certainly. This was only a pointless idle anxiety. But Elizabeth could not suppress it, each blast of thunder jangled her nerves. In most matters Elizabeth put problems she could not control out of her mind with a laugh, but when it involved Jane’s well-being the worry stuck. Elizabeth would not be happy until Bingley’s carriage had returned Jane.
It rained far too hard for there to be any expectation of Jane’s return, and the next morning rather than Jane a runner from Netherfield brought unwelcome news: Jane was ill. Elizabeth’s anger against her mother from the previous evening flared again. She ought not have convinced Jane to go without the coach.
While Elizabeth gathered clothes to take to Jane herself, and asked Mary if she would be willing to stay at Netherfield and nurse her sister, she tamped down her annoyance. Her mother was, and always would be, her mother. Jane ought to have known better than to listen to her. For a second Elizabeth wished her sister was less docile and persuadable. Jane though, was Jane.
While Elizabeth and Mary waited in the front of the house for the carriage to be brought round Mrs. Bennet stepped out and joined them with a smile that showed her to be pleased by the outcome of her scheme. “Mary you must be in no hurry for Jane to recover and leave — why I would like you to stay at Netherfield a week entire if possible.”
“Pay her no mind,” Elizabeth snapped, “it was on her advice Jane became ill.”
“Oh! You are making a much greater deal of this than you ought. It is only a trifling cold, she will be taken good care of as long as she stays there. It is all very well.”
The anxiety Elizabeth had felt all evening, which had disrupted her sleep the previous night, led her to step close to her mother and say in a hard voice, “You make much less a deal of this than you ought — you have yet again sacrificed your daughter’s well-being to your selfishness “
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet replied in a hurt voice, as tears began to grow in her eyes, “You have always wronged me, always. I desire nothing more than what is good for my children. Bingley would be a very, very good husband for Jane, and that you call me selfish because I attempt —”
Mrs. Bennet turned away as her emotion choked off her words. “Oh! Oh!” She wailed, “Were your father or your husband still alive I would not be treated so. You should not treat the mother who bore you, who raised you, who loved you in this way. I know you believe you can do no wrong Miss Lizzy, but you should not treat me so. If only — if only — “and with that Mrs. Bennet turned and rushed back into the house in tears.
Mary and the coachman both had neutral expressions which did not show their thoughts. Elizabeth shrugged and with her anger still simmering entered the carriage, sitting stiffly against the blue velvet cushions. Elizabeth watched the muddy fields pass through the carriage window with her nerves tightly clenched. How dare she still mourn that awful man; how dare she wish Mr. Collins still controlled Elizabeth’s life.
Elizabeth saw Mary take her copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Women from her bag and flip through it, when she found the page she had looked for, Mary said, “To be a good mother — a woman must have sense, and that independence of mind which few women possess who are taught to depend entirely on their husbands.” Mary put her book down. “Really Lizzy, you ought to be angry at the society which taught her. And in any case, ‘the best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.’“
Her ill mood broken Elizabeth gave a small laugh. “I daresay you are correct, it certainly does me no good to feel unhappy.” She began to feel a little guilty. She did not think Mary was right, there were many, many woman educated just as Mrs. Bennet had been who were prudent and sensible. But despite everything, Elizabeth knew her mother did care for them in her dangerous and foolish manner. And, in any case, it was not proper for a child to treat her mother so.
Elizabeth sighed again as she neared Netherfield. She wished she could stay at Netherfield and nurse Jane till she was well. Unfortunately since she acted as her own steward it would be best for her to stay at Longbourn where she would be available to her workers and tenants when matters requiring her attention inevitably arose. Unless Jane’s condition was far more serious than her brief letter indicated Elizabeth would need to return to Longbourn that afternoon.
Darcy had thought the savings from not keeping a steward simply could not be worth the cost in time and inconvenience of managing everything on one’s own. Elizabeth had laughed in reply, and said that as she enjoyed the work it was no matter. Perhaps he was right.
Bingley greeted them effusively, and Darcy calmly. When Elizabeth asked about Jane’s condition Bingley’s evident agitation and worry did not help Elizabeth’s nerves, but Darcy’s kind repetition of the apothecary’s assurance they had little to be concerned with did. He showed a steady calmness and evident desire to comfort which left Elizabeth with a feeling of safety.
Much of Elizabeth’s remaining worries were banished when she saw Jane. She was ill, but in a common manner. It was not worrisome.
While Elizabeth spent the next hours mostly focused on Jane, as she and Mary took turns reading to their sister, or in quiet conversation with her Elizabeth’s mind occasionally wandered to Darcy. He was below her in the same house. What task had he busied himself with? Did he think of her presence at all?
He had been really kind this morning. As always when Darcy crossed her mind she thought with great satisfaction on his friendship; he was a most excellent man. Elizabeth wanted to find a good way to thank him. When Jane fell into a slumber Mary and Elizabeth left her room to go downstairs and briefly join the party in the sitting room. The Netherfield sitting room was a fashionably decorated room, with an expensive Persian rug on the floor and a half dozen vases filled with fresh flowers spread around the room.
The stateliness of her hosts intimidated Mary, who settled in a chair near the marble fireplace with its bas-relief of a classical scene and began to read. Miss Bingley busied herself with knitting, pointedly not looking at Elizabeth. Ever since the dinner party at Longbourn the two woman had avoided speaking. Elizabeth noted Darcy was engaged in writing what appeared to be business correspondence. He wrote with a handsome hand. It would be best to leave him to it, thought Elizabeth, though she dearly wished they could have a conversation before her duties at Longbourn forced her to leave.
There was a small collection of books on a shelf in the sitting room, and when Bingley saw Elizabeth approach it he said with a smile, “I am certain you shall be disappointed in my collection — but it, such as it is, is yours.” Elizabeth laughed, and t
urned to consider the books, and after a second of reflection selected the first volume of Paradise Lost.
Unconsciously she chose the chair second closest to Darcy’s and began to read. Mr. Collins had demanded Elizabeth read nothing but religious or improving works during their marriage. As Paradise Lost had a religious theme he allowed it. While there were passages in the great poem Elizabeth disliked, she had drawn resolve and fortitude from reading certain famed sections repeatedly.
She now turned to one, and as she mouthed the well-remembered lines everything faded away, even Darcy’s presence a few feet away:
Hail horrors, hail …
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be.
Elizabeth quite believed without the inspiration of that screaming defiance to the situation, no matter how dire, she’d not have survived her marriage. For endless months she submitted herself to every minor whim of Mr. Collins to protect her sisters, at the time she really believed it would never end. She had expected her life would be an unending hell where she never could act freely or laugh as she wished.
Mr. Collins would say, “You owe me Elizabeth,” and she would obey and think, “Hail horrors, hail — what matter where, if I be still the same, and what I should be.”
Elizabeth was startled out of her absorption when Darcy asked, “Do you have a great regard for Milton?”
His eyes were bright and he had a pleasing smile as he leaned towards her. Elizabeth startled and put down the volume as she returned his smile, “I do, though my feelings about Paradise Lost are too mixed for me to simply say I admire him.”
Darcy asked her to elaborate with a curious look.
“It is the treatment of Satan, to have one who spoke so nobly of resistance turned into a serpent forced to slither on the ground for opposing a tyrant. Satan through his words shows more of true nobility and merit than any other in the poem. It does not sit well with me. Not at all.” Elizabeth sat forward in her chair, and caught Darcy’s eyes as she said passionately, “To punish an intelligent creature for wishing to have its merit acknowledged, to force the weaker to slither before one who demands worship and obedience. It is wrong.”
She looked away from Darcy, towards the leaping flames of the fire, “there are passages of surpassing beauty in the poem; moments that provide true inspiration, and nourishment for the soul. At a dark time in my life Milton was the only poet I could read, I will always honor him for that — I perceive you disagree somewhat with my interpretation.”
“I do, you say through his words Satan showed true nobility, but these are merely words. His actions show him to be a jealous creature who wished to take that which did not belong to him, merely because he could not stand to see another have it. And when cast out, through fault of his own, instead of attempting to make the best of the situation he tried to gain revenge through hurting innocent creatures, merely because they were beloved by his enemy.”
Darcy spoke with a passion similar to Elizabeth’s own, and as he continued Elizabeth wondered if he might also have some particular person in mind, “Satan merely showed superficial charm, you know there are men who show every appearance of goodness and who can speak words which easily make them friends, but who underneath are snakes as Satan was. Milton merely showed the true nature of Satan, when he stripped away his seductive surface.”
Elizabeth felt something like anger at Darcy’s dismissal of what she saw as a heroic figure, “There is such a thing as tyranny, it exists, here, now, in these modern times, in this country, in many of our households. There are many who reason has made equal that are subject to the tyranny of those force has made supreme. The laws of our country support the enslavement of the Negro to the white in the Caribbean, and of the wife to her husband at home. To defy such tyrannies, to demand — even if only in one’s mind — to be seen as equal to those who use legal force to oppress — it is right. It is right to resist. It is the master’s claim, the claim of unjust power, that the one who resisted by their very resistance proved deserving of punishment.”
The intensity of her speech shocked Elizabeth. She wondered why when she spoke to Darcy she often revealed more of her emotions and inner self than she wished. Darcy contemplated her for a minute. “I perceive neither of us,” Darcy said, “speak only of Milton’s poem and his characters. There is something deeply noble in Satan’s words, and his resolution. It was perhaps an act to charm his followers, but the words have power. I recall how I felt when made to memorize them during my Eton days. And — I know there is tyranny, legal legitimate tyrannies which continue in this modern day. I have already told you what I think of our marriage laws.”
Darcy hesitated, and looking Elizabeth intently in the eyes said quietly, “I told you I know a girl who — who nearly married a dissolute and vicious man who wished to gain her fortune. I have thought upon ways he may have been able to hurt her, things allowed by law, had the marriage not been stopped — should someone in such a situation gain inspiration from Milton’s Satan I would not say nay to them.”
Elizabeth felt ill at ease due to Darcy’s words. Clearly he understood she had her husband in mind. It was widely known, and impossible to hide, that her marriage had been poor, but — she did not like that she said it so clearly. Also, somehow to hear Darcy agree her feelings during her marriage had been just reminded her what she felt then. She felt again like she was reduced to that pitiable creature controlled by Mr. Collins, and no longer herself.
Darcy recognized her discomfort and he continued, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his writing desk, “I — it would be imprudent to speak too many details, but my dislike for the beauty of Milton’s Satan is because I know a man who shows every appearance of gentlemanly charm, and whose words convince many of his goodness, but who underneath is completely unprincipled. A man who claims to be injured by those better than him, but who in real fact wasted his opportunities and sought more to hurt those he blamed for his misfortune than to better his own situation.”
Darcy’s discomfort at discussing such a personal matter, even in indirect terms, was clear in his manner, and Elizabeth felt a rush of affection for him as she knew he had done so to relieve her own discomfort at having hinted at the nature of her marriage. Feeling happier, Elizabeth smiled and gave her hand to Darcy, “Let us agree: cruel tyranny should be opposed, and deceitful snakes exposed. It is no surprise we are both right — Paradise Lost is a great poem; it is the nature of great art to be ambiguous, and to say many true things at once.”
As they shook hands Elizabeth felt a strong sense of companionship with Darcy as she saw the intelligent look of understanding in his eyes. However she needed to return to Longbourn, so Elizabeth arose, “I am afraid I must leave now if I am to visit both tenants I should see before dark.”
Elizabeth felt Darcy’s eyes on her as she walked to the door, and when she turned around she blushed in pleasure at the admiration she saw in them. He was very handsome. Their gazes met and Elizabeth felt a pleasant jolt. Blushing Elizabeth gave a curtsy and left the room.
* * * * *
Mr. Collins’s face floated before Elizabeth, his hand pulled back to strike. She saw Lydia, her face a combination of a child’s and the young lady she now was. Elizabeth tried to get in front of her, but could not move. There was a soft whoosh that in fact sounded little like a blow; Elizabeth felt as though she had been struck. Her eyes turned back towards Mr. Collins. But instead of her dead husband’s face, it was Mr. Darcy’s! He looked as he had the previous afternoon, his intense dark eyes held on her, staring from under the striking black eyebrows vivid against the white skin of his forehead.
With a startled shriek of terror Elizabeth awoke.
She lie alone in her bed. She felt cold due to the November weather, despite her pile of blankets. Her heart raced, and Elizabeth knew she could not sleep again for so
me time. She gave a startled gasp as her stocking feet flinched away from the cold floor when she stepped out of bed, and with a shiver felt around to find her slippers. Elizabeth pulled them, and a heavy blue woolen robe on. She tended to the fire adding fuel until it became bright and cheery.
Holding her hands out to warm them Elizabeth sighed at the nervous tenseness she felt yet. No longer cold and shivering Elizabeth stepped over to her window to look out, the very first light of dawn was visible in the gloom. She knew from previous times a nightmare had kept her awake that with a few minutes more it would be light enough for her to safely walk.
The air of her room was cold despite the fire, and Elizabeth shivered again as she pulled off her night things and quickly dressed in several petticoats, and a brown woolen dress which could easily be put on without aid. Elizabeth tightly laced up her boots, grabbed her heaviest pelisse, and quietly snuck out of the house, by a side door she kept specially oiled for this purpose.
Early morning in Hertfordshire, even in winter, was glorious. Bits of snow and ice sparkled as the first rays of sunlight bounced off them; lines of proud trees who had shed their leaves became visible as the mist cleared. The birds loudly sang their welcome to the day, and at times the beauty of the landscape visible through the now crystal clear air caused Elizabeth’s breath to catch and her feet to stumble to a stop.
Once Elizabeth and walked long enough to feel entirely warm and calm, her mind wandered back to her dream. It had mostly faded. But she recalled that it was her normal nightmare — but Mr. Darcy had been part of it. Why?
Elizabeth’s mind flashed back to the previous afternoon, how she had felt connected with Darcy; her pleased awareness of him as a handsome man as she turned to curtsy and caught his dark eyes upon her; the way she knew he had admired her form.
Mr Darcy and Mr Collins's Widow Page 6
