‘It is nothing. I often walk out in the morning. The cold and the wet do not trouble me. Where is Jane? Can I see her?’
‘Of course,’ said Bingley. ‘I will take you to her at once.’
I could not help thinking of the brilliance the exercise had given to her complexion, although I wondered whether she should have walked so far alone. If her sister had been dangerously ill, perhaps, but for a cold?
Charles left the room with Miss Bennet. Caroline and Louisa, feeling it incumbent upon them as hostesses to go too, followed them. Bingley soon returned, leaving his sisters in the sick room.
‘We ought to be leaving,’ I said, glancing at the clock.
We had arranged to meet some of the officers for a game of billiards. I could tell that Bingley did not want to go, but I persuaded him that he would make himself ridiculous if he remained indoors because his sister’s friend had a cold. He looked as though he was about to protest, but he has a habit of listening to me and took my advice. I am glad of it. Colonel Forster would have thought it very odd if he had cancelled the engagement on so slight a pretext.
We returned home later that afternoon and at half past six we all sat down to dinner. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was one of our party. She looked tired. The colour had gone from her cheeks and her eyes were dim. But as soon as Bingley asked about her sister she became more animated.
‘How is your sister?’ Bingley asked.
‘I’m afraid she is no better.’
‘Shocking!’ said Caroline.
‘I am grieved to hear it,’ said Louisa.
Mr Hurst grunted.
‘I dislike being ill excessively,’ said Louisa.
‘So do I. There is nothing worse,’ said Caroline.
‘Is there anything I can do for her?’ asked Bingley.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied.
‘There is nothing she needs?’
‘No, she has everything.’
‘Very well, but you must let me know if there is anything I can give her which will ease her suffering.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ she said, touched.
‘You look tired. You have been sitting with her all day. You must let me help you to a bowl of soup. I do not want you to grow ill with nursing your sister.’
She smiled at his kindness, and I blessed him. He has an ease of manner which I do not possess, and I was glad to see him use it to help her to the best of the dishes on the table.
‘I must return to Jane,’ she said, as soon as dinner was over.
I would rather she had stayed. As soon as she left, Caroline and Louisa began abusing her.
‘I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild,’ said Louisa.
‘She did indeed, Louisa,’ returned Caroline.
‘I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud,’ said Louisa.
At this Bingley exploded.
‘Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice,’ he said.
‘You observed it, I am sure, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline. ‘I am afraid that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.’
‘Not at all,’ I retorted. ‘They were brightened by the exercise.’
Caroline was silenced. I will not have her abusing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to me, though I am sure she will abuse her the moment my back is turned.
‘I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it,’ said Louisa.
‘I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,’ remarked Caroline.
‘Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside,’ said Louisa.
‘If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable,’ cried Bingley.
‘But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,’ I remarked.
It does no harm to remind Bingley of reality. He was almost carried away last year, and nearly proposed to a young lady whose father was a baker. There is nothing wrong with bakers, but they do not belong in the family, and neither do attorneys or people who live in Cheapside.
‘How well you put it, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline.
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ chimed in Mr Hurst, rousing himself momentarily from his stupor.
‘Cheapside!’ said Louisa.
Bingley said nothing, but sank into gloom.
His sisters presently visited the sick room, and when they came down, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was with them.
‘Join us for cards?’ asked Mr Hurst.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, seeing the stakes.
To begin with, she took up a book, but by and by she walked over to the card-table and attended to the game. Her figure was displayed to advantage as she stood behind Caroline’s chair.
‘Is Miss Darcy much grown since spring?’ asked Caroline. ‘Will she be as tall as I am?’
‘I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.’
‘How I long to see her again! Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age!’
‘It is amazing to me how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are,’ said Bingley.
‘All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?’ asked Caroline.
‘Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses.’
‘Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,’ I said, amused. I have been told that dozens of young ladies are accomplished, only to find that they can do no more than paint prettily. ‘I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen.’
‘Nor I, I am sure,’ said Caroline.
‘Then you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,’ said Miss Bennet.
Did I imagine it, or was she laughing at me? Perhaps, but perhaps not. I was stung to retort: ‘Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.’
‘Oh! certainly,’ said Caroline.
Miss Bennet was not abashed, as I had intended her to be. Indeed, as Caroline listed the accomplishments of a truly accomplished woman, I distinctly saw a smile spreading across Miss Bennet’s face. It started at her eyes, when Caroline began by saying; ‘A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages …’ and had spread to her mouth by the time Caroline ended: ‘she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.’
Miss Bennet’s amusement annoyed me, and I added severely: ‘To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.’
‘I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder at your knowing any,’ said Miss Bennet with a laugh.
I should have been angered by her sauciness, but somehow I felt an answering smile spring into my eyes. It seemed absurd, all of a sudden, that I should expect so much from the opposite sex, when a pair of fine eyes was all that was needed to bestow true happiness. It is a happiness I have never felt when listening to a woman sing or play the piano, and I doubt if I ever will.
‘Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?’ asked Caroline.
‘I never saw such a woman,’ Miss Bennet replied. ‘I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.’
I began to wonder if I had ever seen it myself.
Caroline and Louisa rose to the challenge, declaring they knew many women who answered this description. Miss Bennet bent her head, but not in acknowledgement of defeat. She did it so that they would not see the smile that was widening about her mouth.
It was only when I saw her s
mile that I realized they were contradicting their own earlier professions, when they had said that few such women existed. They were now saying that such women were commonplace. As I watched Miss Bennet’s smile spread to her eyes, I thought I had never liked her better, nor enjoyed a discussion more.
Mr Hurst called his wife and her sister to order, drawing their attention back to the game, and Miss Bennet returned to her sister’s sick room.
I realized that there is a strong bond of affection between her and her sister. I could not help thinking that Caroline and Louisa would not have been so eager to wait upon each other, if one of them had been ill; though they, too, are sisters, there seems to be very little affection between them. It is a pity. The affection of my sister is one of the greatest joys of my life.
‘Eliza Bennet,’ said Caroline, when Miss Bennet had left the room, ‘is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex, by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.’
‘Undoubtedly, there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.’
She retired from the lists, and retreated into her game.
I returned to my room at last, feeling dissatisfied with the day. My usual peace of mind had deserted me. I found myself thinking, not of what I was going to do tomorrow, but of Elizabeth Bennet.
Thursday 14th November
I have had a timely reminder of the folly of being carried away by a pair of fine eyes. Elizabeth sent a note to her mother this morning, requesting her to come and make her own judgement on Miss Bennet’s state of health. After sitting a little while with her sick daughter, Mrs Bennet and her two younger daughters, who had accompanied her, accepted an invitation to join the rest of the party in the breakfast parlour.
‘I hope Miss Bennet is not worse than you expected,’ said Bingley.
He has been upset by the whole business, and nothing would comfort him but a constant string of instructions to the housekeeper, with the intention of increasing Miss Bennet’s comfort.
‘Indeed I have, Sir,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.’
‘Removed!’ cried Bingley. ‘It must not be thought of.’
Caroline did not seem pleased with his remark. I think the presence of an invalid in the house is beginning to irk her. She has spent very little time with her guest, and if Elizabeth had not come, her sister would have spent a very lonely time in a house of strangers.
Caroline replied civilly enough, however, saying that Miss Bennet would receive every attention.
Mrs Bennet impressed upon us all how ill her daughter was, and then, looking about her, remarked that Bingley had chosen well in renting Netherfield.
‘You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease,’ she said.
‘Whatever I do is done in a hurry,’ he said.
This led to a discussion of character, whereupon Elizabeth confessed herself to be a student of it.
‘The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study,’ I said.
‘But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever,’ she returned.
Talking to Elizabeth is like talking to no one else. It is not a commonplace activity, rather it is a stimulating exercise for the mind.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Bennet, startling us all. ‘I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in the town. I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr Bingley?’
Bingley, as easy-going as ever, said that he was equally happy in either.
‘That is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,’ she said, looking at me, ‘seemed to think the country was nothing at all.’
Elizabeth had the goodness to blush, and tell her mother she was quite mistaken, but I was forcibly reminded of the fact that no amount of blushes, however pleasing, can overcome the disadvantage of such a mother.
Mrs Bennet grew worse and worse, praising Sir William Lucas’s manners, and making veiled references to “persons who find themselves very important and never open their mouths” by which, I suppose, she meant me.
Worse was to come. The youngest girl stepped forward and begged Bingley for a ball. He is so good-humoured that he readily agreed, after which Mrs Bennet and her two youngest daughters departed. Elizabeth returned to her sister’s sick room.
Caroline was merciless once she had left.
‘They dine with four and twenty families!’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I stopped myself from laughing! And the poor woman thinks that is a varied society.’
‘I never heard anything more ridiculous in all my life,’ said Louisa.
‘Or vulgar,’ said Caroline. ‘And the youngest girl! Begging for a ball. I cannot believe you encouraged her, Charles.’
‘But I like giving balls,’ protested Bingley.
‘You should not have rewarded her impertinence,’ said Louisa.
‘No, indeed. You will only make her worse. Though how she could become any worse I do not know. Kitty was dreadful enough, but the youngest girl – what was her name?’
‘Lydia,’ supplied Louisa.
‘Lydia! Of course, that was it! To be so forward. You would not like your sister to be so forward, I am persuaded, Mr Darcy.’
‘No, I would not,’ I said, ill pleased.
To compare Georgiana to such a girl was beyond anything I could tolerate.
‘And yet they are the same age,’ went on Caroline. ‘It is incredible how two girls can be so different, the one so elegant and refined, and the other so brash and noisy.’
‘It is their upbringing,’ said Louisa. ‘With such a low mother, how could Lydia be anything but vulgar?’
‘Those poor girls,’ said Caroline, shaking her head. ‘They are all touched with the same vulgarity, I fear.’
‘Not Miss Bennet!’ protested Bingley. ‘You said yourself she was a sweet girl.’
‘And so she is. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she has escaped the taint of mixing with such people. But Elizabeth Bennet is inclined to be pert, even though she does have fine eyes,’ said Caroline, turning her gaze towards me.
I had been about to dismiss Elizabeth from my thoughts, but I changed my mind. I will not do so to please Miss Bingley, however satirical she may be.
In the evening, Elizabeth joined us in the drawing-room. I took care to say no more than a brief, ‘Good evening’, and then I took up a pen and began writing to Georgiana. Elizabeth, I noticed, took up some needlework at the far side of the room.
I had hardly begun my letter, however, when Caroline began to compliment me on the evenness of my handwriting and the length of my letter. I did my best to ignore her, but she was not to be dissuaded and continued to praise me at every turn. Flattery is all very well, but a man may tire of it as soon as curses. I said nothing, however, as I did not wish to offend Bingley.
‘How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!’ Caroline said.
I ignored her.
‘You write uncommonly fast.’
I was unwise enough to retaliate with, ‘You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.’
‘Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.’
‘I have already told her so once, by your desire.’
‘How can you contrive to write so even?’ she asked.
I swallowed my frustration and resumed my silence. A wet evening in the country is one of the worst evils I know, especially in restricted company, and if I replied I feared I would be rude.
‘Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp …’
Pray, whose letter is it? I nearly retorted, but stopped myself just in time.
‘… and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.’
‘Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.’
I saw Elizabeth smile at this, and bury her head in her needlework. She smiles readily, and I am beginning to find it infectious. I was almost tempted to smile myself. Caroline, however, was not to be quelled.
‘Do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?’
‘They are generally long,’ I replied, not being able to avoid answering her question. ‘But whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.’
‘It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill,’ she said.
‘That will not do for a compliment to Darcy,’ broke in Bingley, ‘because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do you not, Darcy?’
‘My style of writing is very different from yours,’ I agreed.
‘My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them, by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,’ said Bingley.
‘Your humility must disarm reproof,’ said Elizabeth, laying her needlework aside.
‘Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility,’ I said, laughing at Bingley’s comments, but underneath I was conscious of a slight irritation that she was praising him. ‘It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.’
‘And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?’ asked Bingley.
‘The indirect boast,’ I said with a smile. ‘The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of compliment to yourself, but I am by no means convinced. If, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, “Bingley, you had better stay till next week,” you would probably do it.’
Mr. Darcy's Diary Page 4