by Jann Rowland
“That is in no way analogous,” snapped Miss Bingley. “Or are you suggesting my brother works in a factory?”
“Of course not!” was Miss Elizabeth’s equally short reply. “But the principle is sound. More and more machines are taking the place of workers, and any rational thinker can see the machines are both more efficient and cost the factory owners less money than paying workers to do the same jobs, more slowly, and with a greater chance of error. That is not in dispute. What is in dispute is what those workers who are replaced by machines can do to continue to ensure their families have homes, to put food on the table and to provide other necessities. Ignoring these concerns is not only short-sighted but dangerous. If you corner a wild animal, so it cannot flee, does it not turn and fight for its life? That is what these workers are facing—it is no surprise there is hostility.”
“And are you the one to save them all? Shall we all listen to the great Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the guardian of justice for all beings?”
“I never said that, Miss Bingley,” said Miss Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy and I were only discussing the problem—I neither know enough of the industries affected nor those who work in them to suggest a solution.”
“Perhaps you do not,” said Miss Bingley, her haughtiness once again on display. “Mr. Darcy, however, most assuredly does. It would be best if you allow great men to think about such things, rather than concerning yourself with them.”
“There is little harm in discussing such matters,” said Darcy, finally speaking. “I consider it a mark of an accomplished woman that she takes an interest in the world around her, even when society might not consider it exactly proper.”
“Miss Bingley,” said another voice, and turning, Darcy noted that it was Mrs. Bennet. “Can I ask you to advise me? I have a question about London fashion which I would very much like you to answer.”
Though Miss Bingley did not wish to allow Mrs. Bennet any of her time, it was also evident she relished the notion of sharing her superior knowledge. Thus, she curtseyed to Darcy, gave Miss Elizabeth a disdainful sneer, and left to attend the Bennet matron. A sigh of relief welled up in Darcy’s breast, and he suppressed it, though he suspected Miss Elizabeth was in complete agreement with him.
“Well thought out and argued, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, smiling warmly at her. In a debate, I can see you are a formidable opponent.”
“I was taught by the best, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth shot a fond look at her father, who was still speaking with Hurst. “Papa encouraged my curiosity and taught me how to think and speak critically. I suppose, in some ways, I was the son he never had.”
“No one would ever confuse you for a son, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, earning her laughter.
With the disruptive presence of Miss Bingley departed, they continued their conversation. A powerful feeling was welling up in Darcy’s heart, and he wondered at the vagaries of life, the strange twists and turns it often took. The thought of meeting a woman he could imagine as his future wife in such a place after searching for years had never crossed his mind. Now that the reality was before him, he was coming to the conclusion he must act to secure his future happiness.
Mrs. Bennet was not blind, nor was she bereft of sense. The end of the entail had dispensed with the fear with which she had lived daily, and with it, the urgent imperative to marry her daughters as soon as possible had also died. While she remained of the opinion that their interests were best protected in marriage, the immediate need was gone, and as such, Mrs. Bennet was content to allow her daughters to find their own partners in life.
Having said that, Mrs. Bennet possessed a keen sense of when a gentleman was interested in one of her daughters, a talent she had honed for many years. Not only was Jane in Mr. Bingley’s sights, but it seemed Mr. Darcy was interested in Elizabeth. Her second daughter was so dissimilar to what Mrs. Bennet had always thought a man wanted in a wife, she had wondered if Elizabeth would ever find a husband. The emergence of Mr. Darcy as a potential suitor was a relief in more ways than one.
While Mrs. Bennet could see the interest of the two gentlemen, it was also clear that Miss Bingley was not a friend of either of the developing romances, her brother’s because she did not consider the Bennets good enough for her, and Mr. Darcy because she wished him for herself. Mrs. Bennet’s decision to allow her daughters to find their own paths in life did not extend to allowing Miss Bingley to interfere in something that would bring her daughter much happiness.
When Miss Bingley followed her away from Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Bennet could see the contempt in which the woman held her. It did not bother her so much as amuse her. Then when they sat down together, Miss Bingley expected her to speak, but Mrs. Bennet only regarded her, wondering if the presence of a mother in this woman’s life might have made her more tolerable. Then again, Mrs. Bennet’s own mother had died when she was young, and she had not ended proud and haughty. It seemed Miss Bingley’s disposition was naturally born. Regardless, Mrs. Bennet hoped Mr. Bingley would be strong enough to control his sister, should he take the step of offering for Jane.
“Yes, Mrs. Bennet?” asked Miss Bingley when they had sat for a few moments. “You said you had a question to ask of me?”
“I offer my apologies, Miss Bingley, for I have no need of your fashion sense. My brother’s wife keeps me informed, and as we acquire the best fabrics from his stores, there is little we cannot do for ourselves from the standpoint of fashion.”
Miss Bingley frowned, glaring at her with haughty contempt. “Then what is the purpose of your interruption?”
“Only to prevent you from making a fool of yourself.”
The affront Miss Bingley betrayed at that moment rendered her incapable of speaking. Knowing the woman would turn away in a moment, Mrs. Bennet used that time to impart the message she wished to relay.
“What you do is your own business, but please allow me to advise against it, Miss Bingley. Mr. Darcy seems like a man of determination. Should he wish my daughter for a wife, and should she return the sentiment, I doubt there is anything you may do to prevent it. Regardless, Mr. Darcy shows no inclination for you, and continuing to pursue him in such circumstances suggests you are desperate or blind. Please desist.”
Miss Bingley shot to her feet, her glower turned on Mrs. Bennet with all the force of her displeasure. “You know nothing! Mr. Darcy will never forget himself enough to offer for your insipid daughter.”
“We shall see, Miss Bingley. We shall see.”
The woman turned on her heel and stalked to an uninhabited corner of the room, muttering imprecations at them all. From across the room, Mrs. Bennet caught her husband’s eyes, noting his laughter and the way he directed an expressive look at her. Miss Bingley’s quick retreat and position by herself had not escaped his attention, and it seemed he approved of her actions. Mrs. Bennet felt warm all over—she deeply esteemed her husband as an intelligent man, one who had provided a home and a good life to her. Times like these, when she felt his approbation, she treasured.
Though she could not quite determine what it was, something had happened at Longbourn, something which vexed Caroline enough to make her moody and uncommunicative. Louisa could well bear her sister’s silence, for she had little notion that Caroline would say anything she wished to hear. The concern was that Caroline would not hold her tongue when they returned and would seek a moment alone with Louisa to release her pent-up vitriol. Louisa’s suppositions were not without merit.
Upon gaining the house at Netherfield, Louisa decided to keep herself in the company of the others, to prevent Caroline’s designs, and for a time she was successful. Charles, it seemed, was eager to wax eloquent on the subject of his chosen lady and did so for at length as the company remained in the sitting-room. And while Mr. Darcy was much more reserved, Louisa felt it likely that had he been only a little more inclined to speak, he might have done the same. No wonder Caroline was fit to be tied.
The momen
t her sister struck was not a surprise to Louisa. How Caroline had watched them all, her temper seething below the surface, was something Louisa had seen many times before. When the company broke apart early that afternoon, Louisa found that she could no longer put off the inevitable, much though she wished to postpone it indefinitely.
“Louisa!” hissed Caroline as she stepped into Louisa’s bedchamber. The maid, who had been working around the room, started at the sudden entrance, and Louisa shooed her away, resulting in her quick flight. There was no one in the employ of her brother or husband’s households who were unaware of Caroline’s temper.
“Do you see the danger now?” demanded Caroline.
“If by danger you mean Charles’s attentions to Miss Bennet, I can only say from a short observation that there may be something to your suspicions. In Miss Bennet, however, I can find little to criticize—she is a lovely woman, and if I might be so bold to say it, perfectly suitable for our brother.”
“How can you speak such rubbish?” demanded Caroline. “She is in no way suitable to be Charles’s wife. Can you imagine having Mrs. Bennet as a connection? It is in every way intolerable!”
“If Charles chooses her, then you can have nothing to say. The choice is his.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then she stepped forward, attempting to use her greater height to intimidate Louisa by looming over her. “Let me make this clear, dearest sister—I shall have your support in ensuring Charles never offers for Miss Bennet. We shall convince him to return to London along with Mr. Darcy.”
“We shall, shall we?” asked Louisa, her scorn matching her sister’s vitriol. “Your words betray you, sister, for I realize your primary concern is Mr. Darcy’s attentions to Miss Bennet’s sister. And well you should be concerned—had Mr. Darcy shown such favor to you, I have no doubt you would have shouted it from the rooftops.”
The fury in her sister’s stance was unmistakable, and for a moment Louisa thought Caroline might raise a hand against her. “I will have your aid, Louisa,” spat Caroline.
“Or?” asked Louisa, unimpressed by her sister’s show of rage.
“Or I shall make your life miserable.”
“That is enough!”
The sisters sprang apart, both so focused on their confrontation they had not detected the entrance of another. That other turned out to be Hurst, and from the way he glared at Caroline, he was not amused by the threats she had uttered.
“In case you have forgotten, Caroline, I shall remind you,” said Hurst, striding forward to stand at Louisa’s side. “Your brother controls your dowry and provides you with your home. It would not do to anger him.”
Caroline laughed, her scorn cracking like a whip. “I fear nothing Charles may do.”
“Then you are a fool,” said Hurst. “Though he chooses not to challenge you, he knows of your excesses. I suspect that this business with Miss Bennet may be his breaking point, should you choose to push him too far. Leave it alone, Caroline—you have never convinced your brother in matters of importance to him. Furthermore, I require you to refrain from threatening my wife—Louisa will be of no assistance to you in this matter, for I am determined Bingley shall act in a manner which suits his own conscience. Now, get out.”
For a moment, Caroline glared at Hurst, attempting to determine the extent of his resolve. Then she apparently came to the correct conclusion, for she sniffed and turned to depart. Louisa could not help but wonder if her relationship with her sister had been irreparably damaged; then she remembered there had been little enough relationship and more of Caroline’s demands, and she realized it was no great loss. In fact, it was rather liberating.
Chapter XX
“Surely you did not, Mama!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“I did, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet, unconcerned with Elizabeth’s horror. “Rarely have I seen the like of Miss Bingley’s brand of arrogance, and I wanted to let her know that all her pretensions would be for naught. Mr. Darcy is not the kind of man to allow her to interfere with his designs, and you, Lizzy, are no more forgiving when it comes to such nonsense.”
“But to say such things! What will Mr. Darcy think of me?”
Mr. Bennet, who had been laughing at Elizabeth’s consternation—quite unhelpfully, in her opinion—stepped in and gave his wife an affectionate glance before turning back to Elizabeth. “However precipitous your mother’s words were, I doubt Mr. Darcy will be put off by anything anyone in this family says. Given how he dotes on you whenever he is present, I wonder if he so much as recognizes when anyone else speaks.”
Exasperation did not even begin to describe what Elizabeth was feeling at that moment when her sisters—traitors that they were—laughed at Mr. Bennet’s words. In the end, Elizabeth did not know if she should laugh or cry, but the thought of laughing was much more appealing, so she joined in with them.
“Do not concern yourself, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet, her smile of satisfaction an echo of the old, less proper Mrs. Bennet. “Though I doubt the woman will desist, there is little chance of her turning Mr. Darcy’s head. If you like him, I see little wrong with protecting your interests against her.”
“But you just claimed she will have no success with Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Elizabeth, her father and sisters still looking on with amusement.
“Anyone with any wit at all can see that,” was Mrs. Bennet’s unconcerned reply. “Even so, there is little harm in ensuring a favorable outcome, now, is there? You cannot be too careful about these things.”
This was more than an echo of the previous Mrs. Bennet—it was as if her mother had suddenly reverted to the woman she had been seven years before. Had Elizabeth not been able to see the humor in her mother’s shedding so many years of improvement, she might have thrown up her hands and stalked from the room. As it was, she had no desire to allow her family any more amusement at her expense.
“What did you all think of Mrs. Hurst?” asked Elizabeth, knowing all too well her voice was not as steady as she might have wished.
“She seemed to be a lovely woman,” said Mary. “Unlike her sister.”
“Miss Bingley is not too bad,” replied Jane.
“Oh, she is not?” asked Mary, shooting her sister an incredulous glare. “In fact, by my account, she shows a contemptuous disdain for us all, though she is the daughter of a tradesman, and is no friend of either her brother’s or her guest’s interest in my elder sisters. What is there to admire in such a woman?”
“Miss Bingley is an intolerable woman,” said Mrs. Bennet with a sniff. “If you were not so enamored with Mr. Bingley, I would suggest you send him on his way, ensuring he understood it was because of the disadvantage of having such a sister as she.”
“Mama!” cried Jane, scandalized her mother would say such a thing.
“I am well aware it would not be proper, Jane,” said Mrs. Bennet, patting her daughter’s hand. “And I understand your attraction for Mr. Bingley. If it was not so, however, it would be the least of what the woman would deserve. To think of it! She, a woman as low in polite society as it is possible to be, considering herself higher than my daughters, who are the scions of a long line of gentlemen. How is such misplaced pride to be endured?”
“How, indeed, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet. “It is unfortunate, but there are many such Miss Bingleys in society today, and it is our misfortune that one of them has taken up residence in the neighborhood.”
“And such a contrast with Mr. Bingley! He is everything amiable and obliging, and to be cursed with such a sister!”
“Just so, Mrs. Bennet. Whatever she might do or say, however, we need not care for it, need not give consequence to her nonsensical statements. In the future, should she speak in such a fashion, allow her to do so, for her silliness shall redound back on her. If she makes a fool of herself, it is nothing to us.”
“I cannot say you are incorrect.” Mrs. Bennet turned back to Elizabeth. “As for Mrs. Hurst, I found h
er a very elegant woman, very obliging and kind. Let us foster friendship with her and with Mr. Bingley. We need not care for Miss Bingley’s airs.”
Elizabeth glanced at her father, seeing his satisfaction, and she was filled with appreciation for his words. When she was a girl, he might have responded to such excesses on her mother’s part with a caustic remark that Mrs. Bennet might not even understand. Now, he guided gently, and many times without telling Mrs. Bennet what she should do, allowing her to come to the correct conclusion herself. It was a mark of how a man should deal with his wife, especially, as in the Bennet family, when the wife was of a more limited understanding. It was an example of what she wished for in a marriage—a meeting of minds, someone who would respect her, would speak kindly and show his affection in everything he did. Her parents’ marriage was by no means perfect, but it was harmonious.
In the back of Elizabeth’s mind, she whispered to herself she might have already found such a man. And her heart grew ever fuller because of it.
“Of all the insubordinate, selfish, contemptible actions you have taken over the years, this has to be the worst! I am ashamed to have you as a sister, Caroline, for you care only for yourself—your wants, your desires, your ambitions. Does it not matter to you what my feelings are? Do I mean nothing to you?”
“Charles—”
“Of course, she cares not,” interjected Hurst.
The look Caroline shot at Hurst was pure poison, laced with contempt. Bingley watched the interplay with a detachment he had never before felt, pushed to it by his sister’s continued attempts to have her own way. She was like a spider in its web, weaving, lying in wait, plotting to catch unwary flies in her unholy schemes. Well, Bingley did not intend to ever be that fly again, for he had had enough of her machinations, her need to order their lives as she saw fit, to push him toward a woman of her choosing, which met all her needs for advancement in society.