For her part, Lady Sarah planned every facet of their visit, including putting Kitty, Mary, and Miss Watson down at school before coming for the elder girls—that they might entirely miss seeing their beloved family. Reveling in the cruelty of her seemingly innocent plan, Lady Sarah approached the fine home of the Campbells in so great a state of pleased excitement that her smiles rivaled her husband’s. She and Mr. Bennet would remain in town for a week, but she planned to hire a coach the convey Jane and Elizabeth to Longbourn immediately, asserting—of course—that they must be eager to go, and therefore she would not dream of detaining them. Mr. Bennet was pleased enough with the ultimate reunion this plan would produce not to oppose it, but both he and Lady Sarah would face a most unpleasant shock upon entering the home and discovering that only Jane was within—awaiting their arrival with a brief letter from Elizabeth in hand.
“Do not be angry,” were Jane’s first words—and it was ill-advised in her to choose such words, for never had they been said to Lady Sarah before but that anger followed.
“Why should I be angry, dear girl?” Lady Sarah asked, standing a fair distance back while Mr. Bennet stepped forward to embrace his daughter, simultaneously asking, “But where is Lizzy?”
“I—I have a letter from her here,” Jane said, fumbling the papers slightly as she handed them to her father. “She has gone to Gracechurch Street.”
“That was very thoughtless of her, considering that she knew we were to come today to convey you both home. I daresay she might have made her visit yesterday just as well!” Lady Sarah said.
“No,” Jane said. “Or, that is, she might have, were it just a visit, but as her letter states, she has gone to stay with our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner for a time, at their particular invitation.”
“What?” Mr. Bennet asked, glancing at his wife. “What do you mean, my child?”
Jane gestured toward the letter and said, “Please, read it. She explains all in her letter.”
But this plea, though reasonable in itself, had no influence on Lady Sarah. Her patience for matters such as these was very little, and therefore while Mr. Bennet himself perused Elizabeth’s explanation, Lady Sarah heard the substance of it from Jane. That she had been made a very kind offer, that she was confident of there being little cause for complaint from her family on the subjects of Lady Sarah’s letter, and that she hoped she was not remiss in presuming that they must consent to a plan that would cost them so little, were all points Jane made so delicately that only a person as unreasonable as Lady Sarah could have been angry.
Lady Sarah, however, was no ordinary woman. Her heart raged in silent spite that her husband’s daughter had outsmarted her—for she knew that Elizabeth had won this battle of wits. Mr. Bennet began to speak of how he would not wish to deprive his daughter of any such innocent pleasure, and to reassure Jane that both daughters were wanted at Longbourn very much, and Lady Sarah took the time during his speech to think. She did not quite believe that Elizabeth was as hopeless as Jane was of finding a good match with an eye to her own future prosperity. Elizabeth was clever, shrewd—just as she herself had once been. If only she could be certain of Elizabeth’s agreeing to marry Lord Norwich, she would have been perfectly easy. If Elizabeth had lived at Longbourn, Lady Sarah could have arranged for the two young people to meet frequently, and used her own powers of persuasion to convince Elizabeth that the match was a good thing. However, Elizabeth’s living with the Gardiners in London would never put her on the way to making a good match. For one thing, the Gardiners did not move in the fashionable sets in London, and Elizabeth would seldom see Lord Norwich among their friends. For another, Elizabeth was likely nonetheless to be satisfied enough with her situation there as to neglect to make marriage the priority it ought to be.
A thought then occurred to Lady Sarah, a highly pleasant and acceptable thought. Though Elizabeth would be in London, Lady Sarah would have it within her power to influence how pleasantly her time was spent there in one significant way—money. If Elizabeth had not the allowance to purchase dresses, nor the maids to fix her hair, nor any hired help devoted to her comfort and wellbeing, Lady Sarah was confident that she would begin to see the prospect of a prosperous marriage as far more enticing than she currently found it. She would be humbled, and her priorities would change. Erelong, without any further attention from Lady Sarah, Elizabeth would realize on her own how valuable a good marriage to a powerful man would be.
“I am sorry,” Lady Sarah said at last, “not to have Elizabeth with us. However, I am sure she shall be very happy. I believe, my love,” she said, turning to Mr. Bennet, “that there is an hour between my visit to the Penn family and our dinner with the Talbots during which you may visit Elizabeth. I shall be far too engaged, I am sorry to say, to have any time for that visit—though I shall be very sorry not to see her. I ought to write her a letter, which you may bring her, to convey my regards.”
Mr. Bennet agreed to this readily, having seldom seen his wife show less anger when a plan of hers went awry. He was so satisfied with her manners toward Jane and words about Elizabeth that he never bothered to read her letter, and delivered it without the smallest suspicion of its contents: that inside, it held a declaration that Lady Sarah would not support Elizabeth in any fashion, that she must not expect any allowance for clothing or any sort of entertainment, and that it was quite uncertain when they would all meet again, as no money for traveling would be provided, either.
CHAPTER 20
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Elizabeth had, for five years, been perfectly happy to consider school her home. Her sisters were there, and her governess, as well. She had not a great number of luxuries there, yet it was finer than many schools, and the relative independence she enjoyed there compared with the tyranny of her stepmother’s home was so freeing that she could have put up with a great many more hardships than she ever had and still been happy. When to her existing comforts was added townhouses and inns, excursions to fine places, and the feeling that, due to her stepmother’s connections and liberal allowance for herself and her sisters, she was a member of a special, fashionable set, she had almost never an occasion for want. She had never known how important her lifestyle was, how ingrained it was in her happiness, until she forfeited it.
Her father came to call after she had been in Gracechurch Street only two days. They were delighted to see each other, and Mr. Bennet was far too wise to his wife’s treatment of his daughters to justify making any complaint to Elizabeth over her decision to avoid her.
“Of course, you shall write to me very often,” Mr. Bennet said to his daughter.
Elizabeth did not write to her father regularly; over the years, it simply had not been done. They were much more likely to enjoy each other’s company in an unexpected visit. However, she loved her father sincerely, and if it was his wish for her to write to him, she certainly would do so—though she did not anticipate his giving her a reply half as often as her other, more regular correspondents did.
“If you wish it, Papa, though you must at least attempt to write me in return.”
He laughed heartily but made no promises.
“Papa, is Miss Watson with you? I should like to see her,” Elizabeth said.
“She is at school with Mary and Kitty,” Mr. Bennet answered. “But you will see her some time or other, I am sure. There was no need to bring her to you, when you were certain to see each other by and by.”
Elizabeth submitted to this, though she felt the disappointment of prolonging their separation most keenly. Was it possible that Miss Watson did not wish to see her? Was she so engaged with the girls that Elizabeth was quite forgotten by her? Though Elizabeth had been her charge since she was a small girl, it was still a relationship of servant to master. Elizabeth began to worry that a meeting between herself and Miss Watson was unlikely to occur soon, and that it would be unpleasant when it did occur.
Seeing the look of anxiety on Elizabeth’s face, Mrs. Gardiner said, “We s
hall certainly bring you to call upon your sisters and your governess as often as you wish it, Elizabeth. Though their lessons may take up a great deal of time, I am confident that your separation shall be neither lengthy nor permanent.”
Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle enjoyed Mr. Bennet’s visit immensely. However, after he departed and Elizabeth had leisure to read her stepmother’s letter, she began to feel anxious anew over how her time in Gracechurch Street would be spent.
Dear Elizabeth,
How alike we are. I was once just the same as you, eager for every kind of pleasure and careless of the impact my decisions might have on others. You will think me unfair for saying so, but I am confident that you are just as I was once—headstrong, independent, and believing you know what is best.
I feel it incumbent upon me as your stepmother to inform you that you are not capable of knowing what is best for yourself. You are young, and your mind is unformed. Your father is willing to allow you to establish family relationships that I feel are beneath you. These relationships appear more important to you than your connections among England’s nobility; this, I now realize, I must accept. However, I cannot accept that you would be living in a situation utterly unapproved by me, yet be kept by me. Should you choose to return to Longbourn, know that you will receive all the ample allowance that I have given to your sisters while they were at home. However, so long as you remain living in Gracechurch Street, you shall have no allowance from me. I daresay the set you will move among now should find you most odd if you were to purchase the kind of dresses and finery that you are used to wearing. Parties, too, shall cease as your friends return to their lessons. You will have a very different style of living, and I hope it shall teach you to value what you have heretofore enjoyed and prioritize those among your connections who are capable of establishing you permanently in the lifestyle you have been used to inhabit.
The letter closed with Lady Sarah’s usual, abrupt ending. Elizabeth’s anger as she folded it up, and the effort it took to conceal its contents from her aunt, who would most certainly find it insulting and humiliating, was great. Though she had found great comfort in recent weeks in establishing the openness she and Mrs. Gardiner now shared, some things were better kept private. Yet how she longed to think aloud, to speak all the offense she felt in her heart!
Having no allowance for clothing ought to matter very little. Though she could not purchase new gowns, she had all of her old ones. She had the protection and guidance of an aunt whom she greatly respected. These were treasures she would not squander. She put away her note from her stepmother determined to be twice as merry and grateful as she would have been without it.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Gardiner said the next day, “has your uncle told you that there is a dinner party this evening? We have been invited to the Smyths’ along with all of our friends. They have heard you are with us again, and Mrs. Smyth was eager to honor you.”
“How kind!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“It is earlier than you are used to dining,” Mrs. Gardiner continued, “for many guests must arise early on the morrow.”
Elizabeth did not mind it, and she found no difficulty in dressing for the occasion. However, two months among the most fashionable people in England did make its impression on her. She and her aunt were ushered into the Smyth’s drawing room, where Elizabeth saw very little of the cultivated minds and manners she had been used to. She was particularly alarmed by the approach of Mr. Dixon, who was attending the party with a mousy-haired young woman as his guest. She was worn and tired looking, though evidently young, and Mr. Dixon seemed to treasure the opportunity of saying, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, how do you do? I suppose you have heard my joy by now. I am engaged!”
“Congratulations, sir,” Elizabeth replied, unsmilingly—for she had not seen or spoken to Mr. Dixon since the whole business had taken place between him and Jane. How striking a contrast this young woman made with Jane!
“May I introduce Miss Baker?”
Elizabeth curtsied, but Miss Baker—evidently not knowing how to respond—merely tilted her head to the side. “’Ello, ma’am,” she said, “how do you do?”
“I am very well, I thank you,” Elizabeth said, with a sidelong glance toward Mr. Dixon. She waited a moment for Mr. Dixon to introduce her, but he seemed not to know how to perform the business. She was debating whether she cared enough to correct him or do the duty herself, when Miss Baker spoke again.
“You must be Miss Bennet,” she said with a giddy look toward her fiancée. “I’ve sure heard much about you.”
Mr. Dixon leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and her smile of pure delight faded slightly. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said softly, and something of the malice in her expression dissipated.
Elizabeth, having little to say that would not offend, said nothing in reply. Mr. Dixon had been looking at her with a smile of triumph, but this, too, gradually faded. Elizabeth did not know what he had expected when he accosted her in this manner, but the whole of the experience served to affirm that nothing could have been more fortunate for Jane than his withdrawing his proposals to her. She had grossly misjudged him when she had known him first, but Elizabeth was pleased to have the power of sharing with her sister now via letter how undeserving Mr. Dixon had proven himself to be.
Mrs. Gardiner, always eager to provide the best friendships for her niece, came to Elizabeth shortly thereafter to encourage her to sit with Mrs. Smyth for a time. Among the guests, Mrs. Smyth was the only woman who was well-educated and well-mannered, and when Elizabeth sat with her, she received her with a smile.
“How kind of you,” she said to Elizabeth, “to come to your aunt and uncle again. I cannot express to you how delighted it has made Mary, for she has spoken of nearly nothing else for a week!”
Elizabeth, truly gratified by this statement, smiled. “The kindness has been all on her side, I assure you,” she said. “I would have been forced to leave London, had not she opened her home to me.”
“Yet this would not have been so unpleasant,” Mrs. Smyth replied. “Is not your home a large estate in the country?”
“In Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “It is not unpleasant, ma’am—you are correct to say so. There was a time when I longed to return there, and every opportunity to do so was a pleasure.” As she spoke, Elizabeth reflected on her own feelings and was surprised to feel how much this was the case. She missed her home and her family terribly sometimes, yet time and distance had made such a change that it did not feel like home at all anymore. She felt displaced. Distant. Alone.
Yet not so very alone as she had once been. As she spoke to Mrs. Smyth, Mrs. Gardiner came near her and sat beside her with a very kind smile. “I am so glad that I have you with me again, my dear niece,” she said, patting Elizabeth’s arm. “I am sure we shall get on very pleasantly together, and Mr. Gardiner is as happy as myself.”
Elizabeth thanked her aunt, and until Mrs. Smyth rose to meet more guests, had neither thoughts nor words that were unpleasant. However, at the first opportunity Mrs. Gardiner leaned toward Elizabeth and said in a low voice, “I assure you, I had never the smallest idea of Mr. Dixon’s true character. If I had, I should never have entertained a thought of him for Jane!”
“I am glad to hear you say so, Aunt,” Elizabeth replied. “And even more glad that she has escaped any true harm. A brief, unprosperous engagement, you know, can always be recovered from—but an unhappy marriage, I am sure cannot. How dreadful her lot would have been!” She shivered with sympathy for her sister—and not without at least some consideration for herself. How miserable she would be if her stepmother could ever convince her to marry Lord Norwich! Yet Elizabeth was sure this was impossible. Nothing, no circumstance or trial or reward, could ever convince her to commit herself to such a person.
“I am sorry I ever introduced him to her notice,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Pay no mind to what he says about her, however. I am very sure that such rumors
shall never gain any credibility with any persons of true sense, and those who have cultivated minds and manners shall not speak of such matters at all.”
“What matters?” Elizabeth asked.
“Why, did not Mr. Dixon claim that Jane deceived him as to the amount of her fortune? I believed that was what you were discussing with him when I came to you.”
“No, he was only introducing his fiancé,” Elizabeth replied. “He said very little about Jane to me. But how could he? To speak so in front of me would risk my immediate contradiction.”
“He could not persist in lying in your presence,” Mrs. Gardiner agreed, shaking her head, “but he certainly has no qualms about lying in everybody else’s.”
The evening did not improve from there, for Mrs. Gardiner was correct in her assessment of Mr. Dixon. He spoke most disrespectfully of Jane to everybody at the party, and Elizabeth even heard her own name whispered by members of the party—comments so insulting and unfair regarding her upbringing, her parentage, her education, and her fortune as made her wish to leave the party and never return to any engagement among this set of people again. She was horrified by them, and it was but little consolation that her hosts shared her horror. The Smyths did not encourage, but could not curb the rampant rumors. The Gardiners could do nothing better than remove from the party at an early hour—though Mr. Gardiner had at least the power to retaliate through business against those who were most offensive to his niece.
Upon returning home, the prevailing concern became whether they should accept invitations to parties given by others among their friends while Elizabeth remained their guest. Mr. Gardiner was a polite and genial man, but he had little taste for parties if his wife did not like them. Mrs. Gardiner did enjoy society, but she hardly considered those among whom she now moved to be worthy of her family’s attention—particularly when they gossiped so mercilessly about her nieces. She had always felt slightly out of place among her husband’s friends, and this perspective enabled her truly to sympathize with Elizabeth, whose sense of belonging had long been suspended.
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