Elizabeth smiled, apparently at one of Mr. Clarke’s witticisms but actually because she realized she was behaving as badly as her mother, evaluating single men as potential husbands for her unmarried sisters. Her own husband would shudder, if he knew her thoughts! However, the exercise gave her something to consider during the evening, and married women were, as her mother often said, supposed to provide their unmarried sisters with opportunities. At least, Elizabeth thought, she regarded them rationally, and did not assume that every man was ready to fall in love, regardless of inclination or suitability.
Mr. Clarke stepped away to make room for another young man, Mr. Jones, the young apothecary, who had recently joined his father’s practice. He was of medium height, thin and rather shy, stammering and blushing as he spoke. Elizabeth wondered if he had trouble speaking when he met with patients; she hoped not, for he did not generate much confidence. Fortunately their exchange was brief, and he quickly moved aside, joining his friend Mr. Clarke in a different part of the room. When Mr. Jones was with Mr. Clarke he seemed to relax, his spirits buoyed by one of the law clerk’s ready compliments. The way that Mr. Clarke seemed to take care of the awkward Mr. Jones was charming, reminding her a little of how Mr. Darcy took care of Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth could not imagine Mr. Jones as a suitor for either of her sisters; how could he ever have the resolve to make a proposal? On the other hand, Mary, who spoke so slowly herself, might tolerate him very well. And if Mr. Jones was not inclined to conversation, Mary could always play the pianoforte.
Alas, thought Elizabeth; she was turning into her mother.
Her aunt presented her next to Mr. Morris, Mr. Philips’s other clerk. If Mr. Clarke was the best clerk that Mr. Philips had ever had, then Mr. Morris was not the best clerk – implying that his prospects were worse than Mr. Clarke’s and therefore he was not worthy of either sister. He was a short, heavyset man with small but piercing dark eyes in his round face. He spoke with bland deliberation. “Welcome back to Meryton, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, then added that he hoped that she would enjoy the evening and moved on to a table with fruit and cheese.
Elizabeth was then presented by her aunt to various Lucases, which, as she had not only known them her entire life but had already met them at Lucas Lodge, struck her as rather unnecessary. Sir William, however, behaved as if he appreciated the gesture and made his usual gallant compliments. His children were not quite so formal and they told her that Charlotte, her husband and her son were expected to arrive in three days.
Finally her aunt introduced her to a red-headed stranger, Mr. Selby, the man who had been betrothed to Mary King. Elizabeth was most curious about him, but his words were clipped and his manner dull. He did not reveal much in the two minutes that they spent together.
Aunt Philips, having done her duty to her niece Mrs. Darcy by presenting her to all the young men, was less thorough with respect to the women. This was understandable, however, as besides the Lucases, most of the women consisted of Elizabeth’s sisters – Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had not come – and they were gathered around Jane, making sure that she had everything that she needed. The one exception was Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Philips’s new tenant. Mrs. Smith was a middle-aged woman, respectably but not fashionably attired, with pleasant manners. Mrs. Smith said she appreciated this opportunity to meet Mrs. Darcy. “Your aunt speaks so highly of you, that I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Are your rooms to your liking?” inquired Elizabeth. “It is many years since I have been in them.” The apartment had belonged to Mr. Philips before he had married Mrs. Philips.
“Very fine, I thank you,” said Mrs. Smith, “and Mrs. Philips is an attentive and considerate landlady. Still, I am afraid they are nothing compared to Pemberley.”
“Do you know Pemberley?”
“Do you mean, have I ever been there? Alas, no, I have not; I have spent my time in other places. But your aunt and your mother speak frequently of the estate.”
“I imagine they do,” said Elizabeth. Her mother had visited only once, at Christmas, when frivolity could be best endured, and her aunt Philips had never made the journey at all, but Elizabeth was certain that Mrs. Philips gloried in Mrs. Bennet’s descriptions, and passed them on freely.
Mrs. Philips, now that she had completed her duty in her presentation of her niece, released Elizabeth and attended to the wants of other guests. Elizabeth was content to join Jane again, who was seated with Kitty. “So now I have met the very best of Meryton!”
Jane smiled and said: “I know my aunt was anxious to make sure that you feel welcome. And it is not just that she wants to honor you, Lizzy, but she knows that these people desire to make a good impression on you.”
It was yet more evidence of the consequence of wealth, thought Elizabeth. “And what do you think of Mr. Henry Clarke, Kitty?”
“He can be amusing,” said Kitty, “but I believe he shows me attention only because I am the niece of his employer.”
“You are not engaging in matchmaking, are you, Lizzy?” asked Jane.
“If Kitty and Mr. Clarke are indifferent to each other, then I will not encourage them,” said Elizabeth. She then changed the subject. “So that is the bereaved Mr. Selby,” glancing briefly in that bachelor’s direction. “I am surprised that he would be at a party, so soon after Miss King’s death.”
Jane and Kitty agreed, but Jane added, “My uncle Philips told Mr. Selby that it would do him good to leave the inn, and that a quiet engagement such as this could not offend the memory of Miss King. In truth, my uncle Philips has been afraid that Mr. Selby might succumb to the same melancholia which overcame Miss King.”
“I do not think that it is helping,” remarked Kitty.
“I am sure that my uncle Philips’s intentions were good,” said Elizabeth, but she concurred with Kitty; the young man did not seem to be deriving any benefit from the gathering. Mr. Selby was not talking to anyone. The clerk, Mr. Clarke, made a good-humored attempt to speak with him but walked away after a minute or two. The ever-attentive Mrs. Philips made sure he was served with food and drink, but the plate before him was untouched. She could not devote much effort to him, however, for she had to usher her guests to places at the game-tables.
Most settled readily at one table or the other; Elizabeth was gratified to observe Kitty making sure that Jane had a comfortable situation in the group playing Vingt-Un, while Mr. Philips was in charge of the more dignified whist table.
No choice seats remained, yet not everyone in the room was at a table. Those without places were Miss Mary Bennet, Mr. Morris, Mr. Selby and Elizabeth herself.
Mrs. Philips was untroubled by the fact that Miss Bennet and Mr. Morris were not at any of the tables, for both were always at hand. She was slightly more concerned about Mr. Selby, who had been invited especially by Mr. Philips; she felt obliged to entertain him. He refused, however, saying that he thought cards and laughter would be inappropriate for him at this time, and Mrs. Philips did not argue, as his gloomy attitude might dampen the enjoyment of those around him.
But with Elizabeth not at a table, Mrs. Philips was almost desperate.
“Mrs. Darcy, we can easily make room for you here – or we can squeeze you in there; Kitty does not need to play – and if you wish to play at whist, I am sure that Mrs. Smith will gladly give you her place.”
Kitty appeared alarmed at being told she would lose a few hours of pleasure, while Mrs. Smith readily put down her cards and began to rise. Elizabeth hastened to stop them. “Do not trouble yourself, Kitty – Mrs. Smith – I am very good where I am.”
“But, Mrs. Darcy! I do not want your evening to be dull!”
“It will not be, I assure you. I am not inclined to cards,” she said. “I can sit here very pleasantly and observe the games.”
“If only we had an instrument, you could entertain us,” Mrs. Philips fretted. “I will have to get one before your next visit.” Her attention was then usurped by the cards dealt at her table.
Elizabeth could not see where or how a pianoforte could be squeezed in among the many tables and chairs. Her aunt would have to sacrifice the very comfortable sofa, at least, and then where would her guests sit?
“I, too, wish there were an instrument,” said Mary. “But my aunt’s friends usually prefer the noise of cards to the soothing sounds of music.”
“Many people in the world have little taste,” said Mr. Morris. “But we must make the best of what we have.” He found a backgammon board, set it up, and invited Miss Bennet and Mrs. Darcy to join him.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, “I will play whoever wins this round. Mr. Selby, will you join us?”
Elizabeth had several reasons for declining to sit at one of the livelier tables. One was genuine fatigue. She rather wished that she had followed Jane’s example and had taken a nap in the afternoon, in order to fortify herself for the evening. The second reason was her sister Mary. Miss Mary Bennet, as the middle sister, had so often been the odd one out, squeezed between the pairings of Jane with Elizabeth and Kitty with Lydia. Elizabeth, closest to Mary in age among the five sisters, had always felt some guilt on the matter, and decided to give her sister more attention. Finally, Elizabeth was both concerned for and curious about the bereaved Mr. Selby.
Mr. Selby sighed. “I suppose it would not be injuring Miss King’s memory to play at backgammon.” Laughter erupted behind them, as Mr. Clarke told a joke to Kitty and Maria Lucas. “Merriment, however, is beyond me.”
“I did not know her well, but Miss King always seemed a good sort of girl,” said Elizabeth, pleased to have this opening to the subject.
“She was,” he said, and then his expression became so obviously pained that he was near tears, and Mary leaned over to her and reproached her in a half-whisper for her lack of tact.
In general Elizabeth considered herself a superior conversationalist to her sister Mary, and she did not think her words had been so very inappropriate, but given Mr. Selby’s reaction, she felt compelled to change the subject. “You are not from around here, are you, Mr. Selby?” she inquired, hoping the question would not increase his sorrow.
He had grown up near Liverpool, which was where he had met Miss King. He had only come to Meryton because Mary King had named him as the beneficiary of her will. Mr. Philips and Mrs. Philips had been exceedingly kind and helpful. They were still sorting through her possessions, which was a slow and difficult process. What was he supposed to do with her gowns and her papers?
Despite Mary’s admonition, there was no escaping the topic, thought Elizabeth. She hoped that Mr. Selby would retain command of his emotions. “I was so sorry to hear of her demise,” she said. “As I said, I did not know her well, and I do not understand it.”
Neither did Mr. Selby, who, in a quiet way, expressed his bewilderment at the recent and devastating event. Miss King and he had been happy; he was convinced of that. He loved her, and she had loved him. During their courtship, she had told him that he was the only man that she had ever truly cared for, and to prove it she had made out the will even before they married. They had had less than a month to wait before the nuptials. So why had she ended her life before their marriage began?
Elizabeth supposed that it would be worse for a man to have his bride take her life just after their wedding, rather than just before – for then the blame, if not the guilt, would fall even more heavily on the new husband. However, she did not believe that this reflection would offer Mr. Selby any consolation, so she kept it to herself. “I do not know,” she said, sympathetically. She added: “My father is of the opinion that it is impossible to completely know another person,” she offered.
Mr. Selby agreed that it seemed to be so, yet, going through her things, he had not discovered anything that would cast his dear Miss King in a different light.
“I am so sorry,” Elizabeth said, then asked what he planned to do with her remaining possessions.
He said that he would keep some things, perhaps sell a few others, and give some items away. Mrs. Philips knew of several poor families that were deserving of charity.
“That is very good of you,” Elizabeth said. She hesitated. “We heard – and my apologies, Mr. Selby, but you must understand that this sad affair is being much talked over – we heard that some of Miss King’s jewelry was missing.”
He confirmed that as far as they could tell, several items did appear to be missing, although there was a faint possibility that they were at her uncle’s house in Liverpool – but her uncle had written to say that he had also been unable to locate Miss King’s jewelry.
So far Mr. Selby had told Elizabeth very little that she had not already heard, although she had satisfied some of her curiosity in simply speaking with him. He did not seem to know why Miss King had taken her life, but even if he did, why would he share that reason with her? She had just met him, and she had not been close to Miss King; really, the matter did not concern her at all. Elizabeth was a little ashamed of her inquisitiveness; she only hoped her manner had not betrayed her dishonorable motives.
“I am wearying you with my words,” he said, for Elizabeth had fallen silent while contemplating her own imperfections.
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Selby explained that it was inappropriate for him to be at a social gathering, but what was he to do? He knew so few people in Meryton, and it did not help to sit in a room at the Meryton Inn staring at four walls by the light of a candle.
Mary Bennet and Mr. Morris finished their game in time to listen to this comment and to agree with Mr. Selby. “Although grief is both expected and natural in such a situation,” said Mary, “one should take precautions to keep it from becoming overwhelming.”
“You should sell the property,” advised Mr. Morris, “or perhaps let it, till the market improves. Mrs. Darcy – Mr. Selby – I have beaten Miss Bennet at backgammon, so one of you must play me next. Who will it be?”
Elizabeth suggested to Mr. Selby that he should be Mr. Morris’s next opponent, and although he attempted to yield to her, her polite insistence compelled him to take his place at the board. Elizabeth was glad to see that the rolling of the dice, and the movement of the pieces, distracted him a little. She also attempted to converse with her sister Mary, and resumed the subject about a pianoforte. “Perhaps a small one would fit,” said Elizabeth.
“I do not think so,” said Mary, who explained that she had measured the room, the furniture and the stairs and had determined it was impossible. Mary then resumed watching the game between Mr. Morris and Mr. Selby, and made no effort to engage in additional conversation with her sister. Elizabeth began to regret not having taken a place at one of the game-tables. She looked up, and caught Jane’s eye.
“We can make room for you, Lizzy,” said Jane, “if you wish to join us.”
So Elizabeth, much to Mrs. Philips’s relief, sat beside Jane and played Vingt-Un. She still wondered about Mr. Selby and Miss King, but it seemed that there was nothing more to be learned this evening.
Mrs. Smith and Mr. Clarke were the great winners at cards. Completely fatigued, Jane and Elizabeth thanked their aunt, and the two sisters returned in the Pemberley carriage to Netherfield Park.
CHAPTER XI
At breakfast the next morning Jane and Elizabeth were greeted by Miss Bingley. Miss Bingley’s headache had completely vanished; her spirits were excellent. She smiled at Jane, hoped her sister-in-law had suffered no ill effects from the late hours of the prior evening, and was cordial to Elizabeth.
The same pleasant mood could not be attributed to Mr. Bingley, who arrived from London in the late morning. His trip had been without incident, he said; his business had gone as expected and planned; Mr. and Mrs. Hurst sent their love; yet his irritability was evident in his abrupt, distracted way of speaking. He hurried to his library to put away his papers, and did not emerge for hours. Jane went in to take him a cup of tea, and discovered that he was drinking port, alone in his library.<
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She reported this to Elizabeth. “He was not really cross with me, not such that any other woman could complain, but his temper was not as sweet as usual. He thanked me for the tea, but said that he preferred port for the moment – at this time of day! – and that he wished to be alone.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh! Lizzy! What if he is still brought low by whatever was distressing him before?”
Elizabeth feared the same thing, and was frustrated that she had not been able to resolve her sister’s problems. All she could do was to listen and to be supportive, but she was not the panacea that her father had expected her to be. Aloud she wondered if Bingley could be tired from the journey and if that could be affecting his temper.
“That is a possibility,” Jane acknowledged, “and in fact it is what he told me. Charles told me to forgive him his ill humor and he promised to be in better spirits tomorrow.”
It was strange for Elizabeth to find Miss Bingley more agreeable than Mr. Bingley, but so it was that day, at least till Miss Bingley teased her brother about wishing to be alone to the point that he even snapped at her. At that point Miss Bingley, now vexed herself, joined Jane and Elizabeth for a three-handed card game, and wondered aloud how Charles, who had been by himself all day on his horse could possibly prefer solitude in the evening as well. “I do not understand it,” said Miss Bingley, “he never behaved in this manner before.” She seemed to imply that either Jane or Elizabeth was responsible.
“Perhaps he was disappointed in the purchase of the estate,” Elizabeth suggested.
“Charles told me his trip to London had nothing to do with the purchase of the estate,” Miss Bingley said.
The Meryton Murders Page 7