by Beth Poppet
Elizabeth was not certain her sister was as comfortable and cared for as Lady Catherine insisted she was but did not intend on disrespecting Mr Collins so thoroughly as to say so in front of his patroness. Neither would she humiliate Jane for all the triumphing over Lady Catherine she was capable of.
The esteemed lady was not yet finished, however. “As for the person,” she said while Mr Collins smiled and nodded vigorously, “he must not be too young, nor too lowly in station. Though of course you cannot expect to elevate yourself too much in marriage, as a really prudent man would not take you for so little a dowry as you must bring.”
Rather than say something she might regret, Elizabeth deflected with a wilful misunderstanding posed as a question of her own. “Do you mean to ask if I intend to marry, Lady Catherine, or whom I intend to marry?”
Lost in her own machinations, Lady Catherine failed to answer her. “Greeble’s son would do, I think. A tradesman has no need for excessive wealth but would be glad to take a wife to tend his house while he conducts his business. Mr Collins, you should have the Greebles to tea. I would not have them come here, of course, but he is most suitable for Miss Bennet, do not you think?”
“Your Ladyship,” Elizabeth interjected, the heat rising to her cheeks, “you have not even ascertained if I am attached to anyone from Hertfordshire. Perhaps I am already engaged.”
“No, I do not think so,” Lady Catherine said decidedly. “You cannot have had any real prospects before your sister married.”
“On the contrary,” she retorted, “my removal from the country has separated me from some of the most charming and eligible young men I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. Though of course if Your Ladyship believes it impossible for me to have had any offers of marriage without your foreknowledge, I suppose it must be so.”
Turning a grim expression to the couch across from Elizabeth, Lady Catherine said, “Miss Mary Bennet, will you give me a straight answer, though your sister will not? Does your sister Elizabeth have an understanding with a man elsewhere?”
“I know of no such arrangement, though I am generally not made privy to my elder sisters’ secrets,” Mary answered bitterly. And then, looking to inflict some retribution for the earlier teasing from Lizzy, she said, “She certainly did spend an inordinate amount of time in conversation with a particular officer of the regiment. A Mr George Wickham, Your Ladyship. He is a lieutenant who often dines at Longbourn, and she seemed quite taken with him.”
“Mary,” Elizabeth reproached, “you know very well I showed no great partiality to him.”
“You may have believed yourself to be guarded, but no one who saw you could have doubted your preference for him, especially among all the other officers that were endlessly parading about all of my unmarried sisters. You never paid them any heed, which I thought quite sensible of you. I only wish I could think the same of you now.”
“Ah, so there it is. Miss Bennet will not accept my help in securing a husband for her, for her heart is given to an officer of the militia. Be assured, Miss Bennet, a lieutenant seeking his place in the world is less likely to marry a girl of your status than even a wealthy man would. It would be entirely imprudent on his part.”
“I cannot speak to that,” Elizabeth replied. “Where does prudence end and avarice begin? You would have me marry to increase my wealth without reaching too high, I suspect, and to a man I do not know and have never met. You take it as a matter of fact that I should prefer a comfortable income over, say, marrying a man with poor prospects that I might truly like, yet you accuse a man you do not know as having no interest in me whatsoever.”
“Well! You are quite determined to defend this Mr Wickham, I see! You leave me little choice but to believe an attachment exists, despite your protestations.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to deny the charges, but Lady Catherine put a hand up to indicate she would brook no interruption. “No more, please, Miss Bennet. I quite tire of this subject and wish to hear someone play. Do you have any talents beyond aggravating your betters?”
“Perhaps,” she answered with mischief in her voice, “though very little, and I do not practice my music as much as I practice the art of aggravation.”
The furrowed brow and icy glare to follow did not shame Elizabeth as it should have. For a moment, she felt sorry for Jane’s sake, but there was nothing like reproach in her elder sister’s look. If anything, she appeared relieved to have the attention of Lady Catherine drawn away from herself for the present time.
Mr Collins, however, looked as if he might fall down at Her Ladyship’s feet and beg forgiveness for his impertinent sister-in-law. Before he could venture forth the words that might inspire her goodwill, the offending Miss Bennet was acquiescing to Her Ladyship’s desire to have something played. Lady Catherine agreed with Elizabeth’s initial self-abasement; Miss Bennet had a little skill but would never play remarkably well unless she practiced more. Mary then was asked to exhibit and told that she had better come and use the piano-forte in Mrs Jenkin’s room where she would be in nobody’s way, implying she was even less of a pleasure to hear than her elder sister. This was a great blow to Mary, who was regarded as the musician in her limited circle of friends and acquaintances. Jane blushed for Lady Catherine’s rudeness and Mary’s chagrin, Elizabeth was left alone to brood over the unhappy conversation she was made part of, and the whole evening ended with Lady Catherine restoring herself in her own mind as the authority on all.
Chapter Ten
Jane did not recover in the three days’ time that Lizzy had given her, nor in five. There were times when additional symptoms overtook her, and other times when there were none at all. This gave Lizzy a great deal of frustration, as the lack of consistency in Jane’s fatigue and pains perpetuated Mr Collins’s—or rather, Lady Catherine’s—belief that it was nothing more than shifts in the weather which oppressed Jane so. A day or two of misery would come, Jane would be persuaded to have the apothecary called if she were not well by the morrow, the morrow would rise, and she would be right again.
In the interim, Elizabeth was forced to endure another dinner at Rosing’s Park without the company of her sister. She would have rather stayed behind and nursed Jane, but Mr Collins wouldn’t hear of such a thing, and Jane assured her she would be quite comfortable alone.
Elizabeth was out of sorts and ill of temper throughout the dinner. Every word of excessive flattery grated on her, making her chafe with the desire to do something, anything for poor Jane rather than listen to one more moment of the perfection of the dinner service, and the novelty of the delicacies before them. Mr Collins might have been more easily ignored, were it not for Lady Catherine’s continued interest in the matter of Elizabeth’s marriage. Her current whim was to speak a great deal on the dangers of a long engagement; through this, intending to bait Elizabeth into a debate which would betray her own status of attachment.
“Your Ladyship seems greatly insistent on my marrying,” she said at last, wrung to the core, “but I have seen no great benefit it has done my sister.”
“What low ingratitude is this?” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Would you blame our good parson for your sister’s own sorry disposition? She is a pretty, sweet sort of creature to be certain, but she is far too delicate for a person of her age and frame. She must be given more purpose if she languishes, and no more blaming the husband. Usefulness is the best cure for low spirits, I always have said.”
Elizabeth wished dearly to ask how well such methods had worked for Anne, who was currently being fussed over by Mrs Jenkins as to whether or not her soup was too hot, the light too dim, or Mary’s conversation too heavy for her to endure. But she had not spoken in order to give offence, but rather to have something done for Jane.
“Your Ladyship,” she answered, with as much humility as she could muster, “I believe my sister to be in serious need of a doctor, and as I know her better than anyone else in the world I wish you would not be so quick to disbeliev
e me when I say so. She is not by nature an idle person and is often in greater danger of overtaxing herself for the comfort of others rather than doing less. She is not prone to suffering from low spirits, especially from mere changes in the weather. In short, Lady Catherine, my sister is the last person to languish away when she is able to do otherwise, and the fact that she is not here now to blush and tell me I am being too kind must be proof enough that I speak the truth. I think I must get her help however I can, and I will do so with or without your consent, though I certainly crave your blessing for the sake of Mr Collins and my sister’s peace of mind.”
By the end of her speech, the entire table had ended their private discussions and were rapt with attention over her bold declaration, scandalised into silence, and hardly daring to breathe in the anticipation of how Lady Catherine would chuse to answer such impertinence.
She was not wholly displeased, though there was no mistaking her furrowed eyes and steady gaze as approval.
“Well, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, if you are so determined, you had better have a physician call. Though I do not condone the passionate way you have expressed yourself tonight, I can appreciate the great concern you have for your sister, and you must have it put to rest as soon as possible, lest you be tempted to further outbursts of opinion. If you are so convinced that a medical opinion is necessary, you will ask for Dr Lancet. I trust no other physician so well as he. And if tonics are prescribed, Mr Jones is your man. There is no better apothecary in the county. Mr Collins? If I hear you have had any other man come to examine your wife, I shall be most seriously displeased!”
Relieved beyond all expression that his esteemed patroness was not thoroughly outraged by his cousin’s insistence, Mr Collins professed, “Your Ladyship is most generous, and I assure you, we have absolutely no intention of—”
“Yes, yes, very well,” she declared impatiently. “Miss Bennet shall have her way, but I must tell you that the manner of your argumentation leaves much to be desired.”
“Your Ladyship must forgive me. I did not mean to offend. My urgency is sincere, and I know of no other way to ask that more consideration be given my sister but to speak with the forcefulness I deem appropriate.”
“No, I’m sure you do not, having never had a governess to teach you these things. All young ladies should have a governess. I have connected several excellent ladies to young girls in the country, and their mothers are forever thanking me for the service it has done them.” She scrutinised Elizabeth then, who sat unabashedly listening, as if the intention was not meant to wound her at all. “You are very unlike your sister, Mrs Collins.”
Elizabeth ducked her head to attempt hiding her smile. “I believe I am more my father’s daughter than my mother’s. Jane, however, is a rare gem who has surpassed us all. Her composition is made up of some other material than earth.”
Lady Catherine lowered her eyes in an analytical fashion, but beyond that, no more was said on the subject and Mr Collins was pleased to take the conversation back to the heights of praise for Her Ladyship and her abundance of goodness.
When the physician made his visitation—Lizzy was perfectly satisfied to take Lady Catherine’s recommendation, so long as he would come and attend Jane—he confirmed that it was not ennui, as Her Ladyship suspected, but something altogether more wonderful and alarming. Jane was expected to be ill for many more months until the addition to their family was arrived, and Lizzy wrote home at once to ask that her visit might be extended, divulging enough that the family at Longbourn might guess at Jane’s delicate condition without her being vulgar, and stating that Jane was very poorly and in great need of her.
She had scarcely finished her letter when the maid announced two gentlemen into the parlour; Mr Darcy, and a Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom Lizzy had never met in her life, though she had heard much of him from what Jane knew through Mr Collins. She had known Mr Darcy to be joining his aunt within the week but was so distracted by Jane’s condition that she had barely given it a thought, beyond her wounded pride in the way he had spurned her at the ball at Netherfield. Considering their last underwhelming interaction, she had never expected him to call on the Collins so soon. Mr Collins was mercifully out on business of a spiritual matter, else the two gentlemen might have been subject to more praise on their beneficent attentiveness in calling on them than Elizabeth could tolerate.
Jane welcomed them warmly, and with all the sweetness and affability as she might welcome a long-awaited family member, and not at all like intruders on her peace and rest. No one could have suspected her condition, nor thought anything amiss with her whatsoever. Elizabeth could not suppress the thought that Mr Darcy might be able now to take some word of her to Mr Bingley. What gain there might be in such information, she could hardly say, but for Jane’s excellent hosting to be known amongst Mr Bingley’s closest friends was something no harm could come of, certainly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was the younger son of Mr Darcy’s uncle, the Earl of Matlock. He was not in the least bit handsome upon first acquaintance, but what he lacked in attractive physique was more than atoned for in his gentlemanly ways. A man of an open and cheerful disposition, he possessed all the societal niceties that eluded Mr Darcy. Elizabeth found it strange what a contrast Mr Darcy was to the friends he chose to surround himself with. A mystery that frustrated Elizabeth with his behaviour at Netherfield all the more.
His behaviour was no less puzzling on this particular occasion. He paid his compliments to Mrs Collins, and after one or two enquiries regarding the garden, and the health of her mother and the sisters remaining at home, he sat alone in silence while the colonel and the two ladies were obliged to uphold the rest of the conversation; an obligation which suited them admirably, as the colonel was well educated and a man of excellent taste in books, music, and all manner of subjects suited to excellent discourse.
After several long moments passed in which Mr Darcy’s propensity to stare in silence had not abated, Elizabeth asked the colonel, though loud enough for Mr Darcy to hear if he was truly listening, “Do you mind telling me why your cousin stares at me so severely? Does he mean to frighten me, do you think?”
Hearing himself spoken of, Mr Darcy rose to attend the conversation.
“How do you like Kent?” he asked her abruptly.
“Very well, I thank you.”
“And your family at home. Are they well?”
“They are all well, as I have said before. Though it has not been so very long since you saw them yourself. We left the county barely a month after you did.”
“Much can transpire in a month,” Darcy said with something of a shrug.
“True. And it takes even less than a month’s time for friends to abandon one another and quit the county for grander pursuits.”
“Where there is true friendship, one is never abandoned, but merely parted with temporarily until the next meeting may be arranged.”
“Ah. I suppose you and Mr Bingley had no friends worthy enough of saying farewell to.”
“I cannot speak for Mr Bingley, but I had no reason to linger in Hertfordshire.” So saying, he excused himself with a curt nod and took up his place in the corner again.
“You see, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Lizzy said playfully, “I am afraid I do not pass muster for Mr Darcy’s standards of a good friend, and we are doomed to remain mere acquaintances, passing one another by with civil nods and the strictest of pleasantries, the sooner to move on to more revered friends.”
“This is most surprising! I’ve heard Darcy speak of you in much warmer terms than this, and would have thought you very good friends, indeed.”
“Perhaps we were close to being so, and perhaps I have lost his good opinion, never to be recovered. But the breach was not done on my part, or at least not willingly, and he has behaved most rudely at our last encounter, in a way that would shock you to hear of it.”
“Do tell at once, that I may chastise him thoroughly!”
“Do you know Mr Bing
ley at all?”
“Why, yes. He is a great friend of Darcy’s. They are often travelling together and taking turns living at one another’s estates. Wherever Mr Bingley’s may be at any given time.”
“Well, at the time of Mr Darcy’s slight, Mr Bingley was residing at Netherfield Park, an estate barely three miles from my father’s property. The last time I saw Mr Darcy, he was at a ball at Netherfield, hosted by Mr Bingley, of course. During the course of the evening, Mr Darcy danced not one dance, though there were partners aplenty, and more than one acquaintance to stand up with. After this monstrous neglect to his friend’s guests, he left the house and the county altogether, taking with him Mr Bingley’s entire household, and without so much as a by-your-leave to anyone in the neighbourhood.”
“I had no idea you would be so disappointed,” Mr Darcy interjected stiffly. “You certainly had partners enough that evening. I would not have interrupted your evident enjoyment for anything.”
“It is true, Mr Wickham is a fine dancer—”
“Wickham!” Col Fitzwilliam cried in astonishment. “Was Mr Wickham there?”
“Do you know him?” Elizabeth queried.
“Only a very little,” he exchanged a dark look with Mr Darcy.
“No, this will never do,” Elizabeth insisted. “I refuse to have such mysterious looks pass between you as if I am not even in the room. What has Mr Wickham done to incur such black moods every time his name is mentioned in Mr Darcy’s hearing?”
“Only that…” the colonel seemed torn between divulging his thoughts and keeping them to himself, but the warning look Mr Darcy sent his way turned him in another direction entirely. “Only that he is now known to be the favourite of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and therefore a most enviable man, indeed.”