by Jane Austen
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr Collins having been in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very good health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then hastened, to console Lady Catherine and her daughter. On his return he brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece, nor could she think, without a smile, of what her ladyship’s indignation would have been. “What would she have said? How would she have behaved?” were questions with which she amused herself, but such thoughts did not ease her melancholy for long. She wished with all her heart that she could have seen Darcy before he left Rosings so that she could apologise for having thought so ill of him and treating him with such impertinence. Though she knew it would not be enough. How could she expect Darcy to forgive her after everything she had said?
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. “I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine. “I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be so much attached to me. They were excessively sorry to go. But so they always are. The dear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last, but Darcy seemed to feel it most acutely, more, I think, than last year. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases.”
Mr Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounting for it by herself, by supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon, she added, “But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”
Elizabeth wondered what Lady Catherine would think if she knew the real reason behind her gloom. “I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”
“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight.”
“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.”
“Oh, your father of course may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will stay another month complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week, and as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there will be very good room for one of you—and indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large.”
“You are all kindness, madam, but I believe we must abide by our original plan.”
Lady Catherine seemed resigned. “Mrs Collins, you must send a servant with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. I have the greatest dislike in the world to that sort of thing. Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, the daughter of Mr Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have appeared with propriety in a different manner. I am excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to mention it, for it would really be discreditable to you to let them go alone.”
“My uncle is to send a servant for us.”
“Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change horses? Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be attended to.”
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary. Elizabeth believed this to be lucky for her, or, with a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours. Whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief, and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections and constant regret.
Mr Darcy’s letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence, and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation, but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself, and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect, but she could not approve him, nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again—it would be too difficult for them both. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret, and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters, and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia, but while they were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had been always affronted by their advice, and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him, and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever.
Anxiety on Jane’s behalf was another prevailing concern, and Mr Darcy’s explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good opinion, heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was proved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness, Jane had been deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her own family!
When to these recollections was added the development of Wickham’s character, it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it almost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.
Their engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the last week of her stay as they had been at first. The very last evening was spent there, and her ladyship again enquired minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing, and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.
When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year, and Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand to both. Though she was certain she would wish to visit her friend, Elizabeth had no desire to see Rosings again. She would be forever fearful of chancing upon Mr Darcy, which could not be a good thing. Much could happen in the space of a year. What if he were to marry? And wha
t if it were to Miss Bingley? It would not be outside the realm of possibility. Darcy was free to marry whom he chose and if his affection for her was as strong as he had proclaimed it to be, his spirits would be down after Elizabeth’s rejection. What a perfect opportunity for Miss Bingley to step in and ease his discomfort. Elizabeth could certainly not smile and congratulate them in their union when the very idea was so utterly abhorrent to her. And if he did not choose Miss Bingley he might very well marry Miss de Bourgh, which would be equally as distressing to witness. No, she could not come to Rosings ever again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared, and he took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.
“I know not, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, “whether Mrs Collins has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us, but I am very certain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for it. The favour of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like yourself, but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension, and that we have done everything in our power to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly.”
Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment, and the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make her feel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity replied, “It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your time not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best, and most fortunately having it in our power to introduce you to very superior society, and, from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to Lady Catherine’s family is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on what a footing we are. You see how continually we are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not think anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, while they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.”
Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings, and he was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility and truth in a few short sentences.
“You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will be able to do so. Lady Catherine’s great attentions to Mrs Collins you have been a daily witness of, and altogether I trust it does not appear that your friend has drawn an unfortunate—but on this point it will be as well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other.”
Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness where that was the case, and with equal sincerity could add, that she firmly believed and rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry, however, to have the recital of them interrupted by the lady from whom they sprang. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she had chosen it with her eyes open, and though evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning her with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her in, Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly reminded them, with some consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies at Rosings.
“But,” he added, “you will of course wish to have your humble respects delivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you while you have been here.”
Elizabeth made no objection, but could not summon a more favourable reply, the door was then allowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.
“Good gracious!” cried Maria, after a few minutes’ silence, “it seems but a day or two since we first came and yet how many things have happened!”
“A great many indeed,” said her companion with a sigh.
“We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice. How much I shall have to tell!”
Elizabeth added privately, “And how much I shall have to conceal!”
Their journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm, and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr Gardiner’s house, where they were to remain a few days.
Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at Longbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.
It was not without an effort, meanwhile, that she could wait even for Longbourn, before she told her sister of Mr Darcy’s proposals. To know that she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever of her own vanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was such a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered but the state of indecision in which she remained as to the extent of what she should communicate, and her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley which might only grieve her sister further. There was one thing, however, she knew unequivocally she would not disclose to Jane, and that was the intimacy she and Darcy had shared. That was something Elizabeth would take to the grave, and it grieved her it was something she would not experience with him again—however much she desired it.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of ——, in Hertfordshire, and, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr Bennet’s carriage was to meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman’s punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.
After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming, “Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?”
“And we mean to treat you all,” added Lydia, “but you must lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.” Then, showing her purchases—”Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty, but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better.”
And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect unconcern, “Oh! but there were two or three much uglier in the shop, and when I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what one wears this summer, after the ——shire have left Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight.”
“Are they indeed!” cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.
“They are
going to be encamped near Brighton, and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme, and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to go too of all things. Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!”
“Yes,” thought Elizabeth, “that would be a delightful scheme indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!”
“Now I have got some news for you,” said Lydia, as they sat down at table. “What do you think? It is excellent news—capital news—and about a certain person we all like!”
Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he need not stay.
Lydia laughed, and said, “Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for my news. It is about dear Wickham. Too good for the waiter, is it not? There is no danger of Wickham’s marrying Mary King. There’s for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool. Gone to stay. Wickham is safe.”