Chapter Twelve :News from the North
All this was resolved, however, by the arrival of a letter addressed to Mrs. Bennet. It had evidently been on its travels for quite some time, and the back of the cover bore the notes of more than one redirection.
“Whatever can it be?” asked Mrs. Bennet, “ I was not expecting anything, I am sure, nor do I know the hand on the cover. Who can it be from?”
“Perhaps, my dear, I might suggest that the easiest way to discover the answers to your questions might be to open it?”
This, of course, would have wasted far too little time, and the illegible, smudged seal was not to be broken until the maximum possible mystery and enjoyment had been extracted from prolonged speculation on the author and purpose of this missive, in which, naturally, both Mary and Kitty must have their part. Had Mrs. Bennet not continued in so much awe of Mr. Darcy, I make no doubt that he would have been referred to for his opinion, too, along with Lizzie’s, and I should not have been surprised to see a messenger sent to Garthdale, to summon Jane and Bingley for consultation.
I amused myself meanwhile by tracing the directions on the cover. It had apparently originally been sent to Longbourn, and forwarded from there for some reason to London, to the Gardners’. No good may be expected of London at any time, and, indeed, none came of it in this case. The next scrawl upon the cover read “Try Pemberleigh” in a hand which I recognized as my wife’s brother’s housekeeper. Thence it had apparently gone to Pemberleigh in Norfolk and Pemberton in Lancashire, before at last finding its way to Pemberley in Derbyshire.
And, to think I have heard it said that the Post Office clerks do not earn their pay!
I had my own suspicions as to the author – or authoress - of the letter, since it had, as far as I could make out, originated in Newcastle, but I no longer have the energy for strenuous amusement since my fall, and I held my peace until the ladies decided among themselves that there was nothing else for it but to break the seal.
“Why, it is from Lydia!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Wickham must have addressed it for her, which is why we none of us knew the hand. It is a very long while since we heard from her, but, then, the dear child was never very good at writing letters. What a pleasure it will be to read every word! But perhaps I ought to wait until later, so that I may enjoy the pleasure of anticipation? And, perhaps, in your state of health, my love, the excitement may be too much for you?”
I have learnt never to neglect the slightest opportunity to interrupt Mrs. Bennet in full flow.
“Never in life!” I cried, “What you call anticipation, I call suspense, and, whatever the general state of my health, such a thing will do my nerves no good at all. It is nervous exhaustion I am supposed to be suffering from, remember, if, indeed, I am suffering from anything at all other than…”
Fortunately, at this point I mastered myself sufficiently to hold my peace, and merely continued –
“Give it to me, my sweet, and I shall read it aloud for all to hear.”
“Oh, I wish you would, my love, for you read so beautifully, and my eyes get so tired these days, and I should hate to have to wear those hideous spectacles that Mr. Darcy gave me, only, pray do not mention that to him, for you know what he is like.”
“I believe he and I both know what you are like, my dear, and that will suffice for me. But, pray, allow me to proceed.”
So saying I unfolded the rest of the paper, and set myself to the task of deciphering Lydia’s hand. My youngest daughter had always affected a scrawl which a spider would have difficulty emulating, and neither the passage of time nor one of the new-fangled steel nibs had done anything to improve it, although the holes which the latter had left in the cheap notepaper did provide some form of punctuation.
“Dear Mama,” she began, “what news I have for you! You will never guess, indeed, you will not. Dear Wickham could not believe it when I told him, and, indeed, I can scarce believe it myself, although, to be sure, I have had my inklings for some time now. There have been signs enough, certainly. I thought my dresses were growing tight, and then there was that time I felt unwell while choosing muslin at Bainbridges. Such a choice there was, too, mama, you would have been delighted with the variety. I was hard put with the selection, what with the sprigged, the figured…..”
I could see where all this was leading, and laid down the packet.
“I must positively decline, my dear, to engage in a catalogue of the virtues of divers muslins. In any case, I am sure you are perfectly familiar with them yourself. You will forgive me if I forgo this gratification, which I save for you to consider at your leisure, and move on until we are past all mention of muslin. And lawn. And velvet. And millinery, in fact anything to do with female frippery. Your daughter has certainly lost in her absence none of the skill in avoiding the point which she owes to your unceasing and selfless tuition while she was at home.
Ah! Here we are at last” -
“ And so I said to Mrs. Major Armstrong – ‘I do not feel at all well’, and she turned away from her new bonnet, such a fright it was really, but there is no accounting for taste, and said to me – ‘Do you say so, Mrs. Wickham? You do look pale. You really should see the doctor. Well, I wanted to go to one of the smart physicians in Grainger Street, but Wickham would call in the camp surgeon first. He cannot abide wasting money, although he is so kind and generously attentive to me in all things, dear lamb.”
“I never have taken to Surgeon Millburn, he smells so much of rum and brandy and worse things, and I cannot bring myself to repeat the embarrassing questions he asked me, nor the even more embarrassing way in which he examined me, while Wickham looked on, and made no move to interfere.”
“When he was finished he turned to my lamb and said, ‘Congratulations, Wickham! You have a little stranger on the way, perhaps a son and heir. And well on the way too, if I am any judge. You must look after Mrs. Wickham and make your preparations, for I think you will need them in a month or two.’
“So there, what do you think of that, mama? You are to be a grandmamma quite soon, apparently. How I long for you to be with me till then, and surely papa cannot now persist in his unreasonable refusal to visit me?”
At this point Mrs. Bennet, never exactly renowned for restraint at the best of times, I am forced to admit, could no longer contain her feelings.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” she cried, “Oh, Mr. Bennet, my poor dear Lydia is with child! Oh, Kitty, oh, Mary, your sister is to have a baby, and she little more than a baby herself, poor child! And no one to look after her, no one to prepare her layette! We must go to her at once! We must start now! Call for the horses, Mr. Bennet, call for the horses!”
“Not so fast, my dear,” I replied, “this is scarcely a trip next door, that you propose, nor even an outing to Buxton. It is a great journey, a major enterprise, and not to be undertaken lightly.”
“Oh, you men! And your eternal caution! Shame on you, Mr. Bennet! Do you not want to see your own grandchild? I insist that we set off at once to your daughter’s aid, and if you will not do so I shall never speak to you again. I mean it. This is the last word I shall speak to you until we all set off. That is my very last word. Not one word more will you hear from me, not one syllable. And when she dies of child-bed fever because her own father refused to help her I hope you will be satisfied, although how anybody can be satisfied with the death of his own daughter from his own neglect, I cannot understand. I warn you, Mr. Bennet, I shall not say one more word to you, although I should have thought that the man I married would have been ashamed of such a thing. But I shall not say one word more to you, I swear, until you promise me that we shall all go to Newcastle immediately. Not one more word. You must understand me, not one more word.”
She paused for breath, giving me the opportunity to open my mouth.
“I understand you perfectly, my dear, but perhaps it has escaped your notice that you have not said one more word to me since the vow first passed your lips, but many more
words? And perhaps you will now give me leave to say a few of my own?”
“Oh, you, you….man! Come Kitty, come Mary, let us go and leave your father to repent. Oh, Mr. Bennet, how could you be so heartless to my poor nerves?”
“Your nerves are my old accustomed friends, my dear, and I always hold them in the highest regard. It is out of consideration for them that I believe that you should stay awhile and hear me out.”
“If you cast your mind back some little while, you will agree that I did not say that we should not go to visit Lydia in her lying-in. I merely said that we could not go this instant. Such affairs take a deal of arranging. How long will it take you to pack, for instance? I must enquire about coach times and routes, too. We are unlikely to be able to set off before Tuesday, if then. And in any case, think of the disrespect to our hosts if we left them at a moment’s notice. And think of the pleasure that awaits you in the task of informing your eldest daughters of your youngest’s happy news. Will that not console you while I make what arrangements I can?”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are so good, and so kind. I always knew I could rely upon you. Girls, do you not have a good, kind father? Come, let us go tell Lizzie. Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are the man I married, after all.”
“Hmm.” I thought as they departed, “I have often wondered about that myself.”
Chapter Thirteen :Preparations
I sat relishing the silence for a moment, but it was too good to last. I must tell Darcy the news.
I value all my sons in law highly, each in his own way.
Bingley, of course, is invariably charming and agreeable, if a little vacuous. He is so easy-going that he may be led to agree with almost any proposition, and quite as uxorious as anyone could wish. I can easily undertand what Jane sees in him. Even Wickham is conversible, if one remembers not to believe more than one word in ten that he says. He can charm when he wishes to, although his particular brand of charm is, I believe, more suited to ladies than to gentlemen, and I have no doubt we get on far better at opposite ends of the country. I know full well what Lydia sees in him.
With Darcy, however, it is a different matter. He is perfectly polite, indeed, the essence of good breeding. His intelligence is remarkable, for a country gentleman, and his education both excellent and improved by reading. But there is something awesome and unapproachable about him, especially when he is mounted upon his high horse, in his own kingdom of Pemberley. As a husband for one’s favourite daughter, he is altogether admirable, and I have no difficulty in comprehending what Lizzie sees in him. What I cannot comprehend is how she can endure to live, day in and day out, with such unending, and perfectly conscious, perfection. That is, indeed, if a person held to be completely devoid of anything resembling a sense of humour can be said to be perfect.
I find every time we meet, that I must, as I seem to recollect once hearing Lizzie say, I must stand up to him or else I shall begin to be afraid of him. This being no more than he expects from me, Lizzie having trained him well, we rub along well enough in our way, but it is always hard going, at first anyway. Whether he experiences similar difficulties it is impossible to say, as his impassive exterior never changes.
He heard the news with his usual, bland civility.
“I must congratulate you upon the addition to your family, Mr. Bennet, but I fear it will soon deprive me of the continuing pleasure of your presence and that of your family. Elizabeth will feel your absence even more than I shall, but she must be consoled by the thought of soon having a new niece or nephew to cherish.”
Some spirit of mischief led me to say to him –
“I regret it extremely, sir, but I fear that go I must. If the infant should prove to be a grandson it may necessitate a change in my will. But I see no need why you and Lizzie should be deprived of the company of her mother and sisters while I attend to this small matter of business. It is little enough that they have seen of each other these last years, and I am sure that they will be delighted to entertain you in my absence. I cannot say, as yet, how long that absence may last, however.”
The look that passed across his face, albeit momentarily, as he considered the prospect of being left indefinitely with only Lizzie to protect him from the attentions of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, was well worth the effort.
“But surely,” he said, “Mrs. Bennet will wish to see her daughter again, and your younger girls their sister, especially at such an interesting time?”
“Do you think so? Do you really think so? Women are strange, unaccountable creatures, to be sure. I, for one, should be glad to be spared the toil and expense of further travel, but I must go to attend to the formalities. That anyone should view the task in a different light had never occurred to me. I shall consult with Mrs. Bennet and the girls, however, and especially with Lizzie. It is a good thing that Jane and Bingley are expected here this afternoon. We can have a regular family conference.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bingley will be disappointed that you will not be travelling back to Garthdale with them. I am sure they were looking forward to welcoming you to their new home. But we shall see. In the meantime, any assistance I can provide is, of course, at your disposal.”
“That is very good of you, sir. You may be sure that I shall take full advantage of your offer.”
My eldest daughter and her ever-obliging husband arrived as expected, and, as also expected, Jane was immediately whisked off by her mother and the girls, while Bingley was left to indulge in his usual polite, inconsequential chatter with Darcy and me.
He had nothing really coherent to relate about what had been happening since the last time he had been to Pemberley – or, to tell the truth, about what had been happening to them since he had last visited Longbourn, but he narrated that nothing at more than ample length, and with pronounced gusto. I have noticed this before in married men who have had no society but their wives for a while. In male company at last, they become talkative, for a while at least.
Eventually even he could make no more of their new house and grounds, and was obliged to ask if there was any news at Pemberley.
“I believe Mr. Bennet could answer that question better than I,” was Darcy’s reply.
“How so?” Bingley rejoined. “I trust you have not had bad news about the state of your health, Mr. Bennet? We should all be very sorry to hear that.”
“I have had news”, I replied, “and it does concern a certain state of health, but that state is not mine. Whether it is good or bad I leave to you to determine, though I make no doubt that Mrs. Bennet will be relating it to our dear Jane even as we speak.”
“Now you do intrigue me, Mr. Bennet. Please continue.”
He took the news with the complacency I had expected.
“I rejoice with you, Mr. Bennet, and must congratulate you on the prospective increase to your youngest daughter’s immediate family. I have the liveliest recollection of Miss Lydia, as she was then. Jane will be really happy to hear the news, although I fear this must mean we shall not have the very great pleasure of entertaining you at Garthdale?”
I must go to her now.”
“I echo Bingley’s sentiments,” said Darcy, after his friend had left. “At the same time I fear I am become far too self-indulgent to refrain from expressing my regret that in consequence I fear we will soon be deprived of the pleasure of the company of the Bennet family at Pemberley.”
I, too, rejoiced at this classic Darcy pronouncement – perfectly phrased, exquisitely enunciated, cold as a moneylender’s heart, and sounding as if he had been up all night rehearsing it – and I mentally added it to my collection of ‘favourite Darcyisms’.
I did not make the obvious mistake, however, of assuming this statement, nor, indeed, its original, to be one of mere formality. Darcy may be what they call a ‘cold fish’ on the surface, but anyone who can win the love of my Elizabeth must have more to him than that, and in any case, I knew my man by now. Formal he may be, but he is always scrupulously fair, honest and sincere in both hi
s words and his actions, and this sentence from him was the equivalent of another man’s throwing his arms about me and sobbing, and it affected me greatly, even more than Bingley’s obviously sincere good wishes.
I fear that as I grow older I find myself increasingly prone to inconvenient bouts of emotion. I dare say such things will come even to Darcy, but they are distressing, nonetheless.
However, I have been properly brought up, and can feign indifference quite as well as any Darcy.
“I fear it must be so, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bennet and my daughters would have it so, and I cannot deny the justice of their pleas, however little inclined I may personally be for further exploration towards Ultima Thule, and, indeed for further acquaintance with my other son-in-law whom I will not name. He has his sources of amusement, I grant you, but they very soon pall.”
“I cannot deny my family’s natural desire to be with Lydia at this time, but I fear that such haste as they enjoin may be not only superfluous, but, in fact, too late.”
“I do not quite follow your meaning, sir.”
“I have not mentioned this yet to Mrs. Bennet, or to any of my girls, so I must rely upon your discretion, but I fear that, whatever we do, we will not arrive for the birth, let alone the lying in. Lydia’s letter was delayed and misdirected several times, and has not so much followed us to Derbyshire as wandered aimlessly about the country until it happened upon us here. Lydia only rarely puts either dates or addresses upon her letters, and has not failed to omit them on this one. Consequently, we have no very clear idea of when she wrote to us, nor of where she wrote from. From the markings on the cover, it would appear that it was posted over three months ago. Add to that the late stage at which the pregnancy was discovered, and it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that, even as I speak, my grandchild may already be squawking in his cradle by the banks of the Coaly Tyne.”
“You may rely upon my discretion, sir, but I must just mention that I have no secrets from Mrs. Darcy.”
More Sport for our Neighbours Page 9