by Mary Street
This conversation petered out and we danced for some time in silence. I found myself looking at her mouth, her lips slightly parted, slightly curved: I found myself wondering how it would feel to claim that mouth with my own, to—
I checked myself abruptly. To give my thoughts another direction I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Do you and your sisters often walk into Meryton?’
‘Yes, quite often.’ Apause and a sidelong look. ‘When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.’
I stiffened. Damn it, I had forgotten Wickham. For the first time I realized how very odd that meeting must have appeared to Elizabeth: she had seen it of course.
I did not wish to speak of Wickham but since I had, by my own thoughtlessness, led right into the subject, I felt I might take the opportunity to give her a warning. I said, ‘Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he is equally capable of retaining them is less certain.’
‘He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,’ said Elizabeth, ‘and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.’
I had no wish to go into that, especially now, when I was most eager to enjoy her company, and most painfully aware the precious minutes were passing by.
I did not have to, for our dance was interrupted by Sir William Lucas, who stopped us to pay his usual fulsome compliments. Such superior dancing was not often seen, my fair partner did me credit, and so on. He turned to Elizabeth and went on, ‘I shall hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in!’
These words were accompanied by a significant look and I, following his glance, had it most forcibly brought home to me what he meant.
Bingley was dancing with Jane Bennet: Bingley had been paying Jane Bennet far more attention than was wise and, it seemed, he had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage at some time in the near future.
I stared at them, shocked to realize I had been too preoccupied with my own problems to pay much attention to what Bingley was about. And Bingley, far from considering the implications of what he was doing, was in a fair way to connecting himself with a family that could only be a continual cause of repugnance.
When Sir William left us, I pulled myself together and turned back to Elizabeth. ‘Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.’
‘I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success and what we are to speak of next I cannot imagine.’
I could not help smiling, and suggested we talked of books.
‘Books? Oh no! I cannot talk of books in a ballroom: my head is always full of something else.’
‘The present always occupies you in such scenes, does it?’
‘Yes, always,’ said Elizabeth absently.
Whatever had crossed her mind had nothing to do with the present: I found myself being cross-examined about something I had said during her stay at Netherfield.
Now, she reminded me of the occasion. ‘I remember hearing you once say, Mr Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment, once created, was unappeasable.’
She wanted to know how careful I was about my resentment being created. ‘It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinions to be secure of judging properly at first.’
I asked why she was asking all these questions: she only smiled and said she was studying my character, without much success.
I confess, I was offended. It is not the kind of thing a young man likes to be told by the lady he loves. By now I was convinced that Wickham, in his insinuating way, had given Elizabeth some story to account for the coldness of the encounter she had witnessed.
It would not be a story to suggest he was at all to blame.
I had no intention of going into the subject. Instead, I suggested that she put off sketching my character for the present. ‘There is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.’
‘If I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.’
I made answer cold enough to show my displeasure and neither of us spoke again. When the dance ended, we parted in silence, for I had no wish to subject her to the worst of my ill humour.
I could not be angry with her for long, however, for I knew well enough who was really to blame. Wickham! My dance, my only dance with Elizabeth, spoilt by Wickham!
Well, that was it, and perhaps I should not repine too much. There had been moments I could remember with pleasure.
I danced next with Louisa Hurst, and afterwards spent a few minutes in conversation with the two sisters until Colonel Forster came to claim Miss Bingley for the next dance.
I took some wine and fell into a reverie, still unhappy about my dance with Elizabeth: then, to my astonishment and indignation, I found myself accosted by that same absurd cleric I had observed her dancing with earlier.
Someone should have taught him better manners. There had been no introduction and, had I wished for his acquaintance I would have sought it. But this fellow was beyond understanding his own impertinence.
Here was none other than the relation of the Bennets that Bingley and his sisters had found so ridiculous, Mr William Collins.
His intrusion was explained, if not excused. My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had lately bestowed upon him the living of Hunsford, near to Rosings Park. He was, he said, delighted to be able to assure me that Lady Catherine and my cousin, Anne, were both quite well yesterday sennight.
This was just part of a long speech of equal inconsequence and absurdity: I had not the patience to listen with proper attention. Instead, I found myself wondering what had possessed my aunt to grant him the living and, indeed, what on earth she found so pleasing in the oily fellow.
I could recall, now, how I had heard of him. My aunt is a diligent, I may even say a ruthless correspondent, and no detail is too trivial for her to pass on in her letters. Mr Collins had been mentioned. ‘A most respectable young man,’ she had told me, ‘and so particularly attentive to me!’
I could easily believe it. Lady Catherine would favour him with invitations to Rosings, sometimes to dine, sometimes to spend an evening after dinner. She would expect him to make up a four at cards, to keep her informed of all that went on in the parish, and to hear all her opinions and advice on every possible subject.
These attentions, it seemed, had given him an air of self-importance which I found intolerably offensive. When he came to the end of his speech, I said coldly, ‘I am sure Lady Catherine could never bestow a favour unworthily.’
He would have launched into another speech had I not cut him short and walked away.
Another dance was due to begin but I did not trouble to find a partner: I had matters other than dancing on my mind, for I had not forgotten the information of Sir William Lucas. I was now resolved to observe for myself exactly what was between Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet.
I had seen at once that Bingley was in love with her. It came as no surprise, for I had known Bingley many years and he often fell in love.
This attachment, though, seemed stronger than anything I had previously witnessed. There was something earnest in his manner of conversing with her which suggested he had progressed beyond his usual light-hearted dalliance. He was taking her seriously and might indeed be contemplating matrimony. I knew he would not have given any consideration at all to the certain evils of such an alliance.
Had all the Bennets the agreeable manners of the two eldest girls, I would have had no hesitation in approving the match and wishing them well. The want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as it was to me: his family was respectable, and Bingley had received a gentleman’s education, but he was not high bo
rn and his own fortune had, in his grandfather’s day, been founded on trade. His sisters might give themselves airs and associate with people of rank but they themselves were not well connected.
But the other Bennets did not have the agreeable manners of the two eldest girls: Mr Bennet was intelligent, which made made him tolerable in spite of his sarcasm and indolence, but his wife had manners that were far from right and her lack of understanding made this impossible to remedy. Indeed, she encouraged the two youngest girls in their ignorance and folly, seeing no evil in the reputation they were acquiring.
I watched them, giggling, squealing and flirting outrageously with the officers and could not help feeling Mr Bennet should exert himself to do something about it. I had noticed Elizabeth making some attempt to check the behaviour of the younger girls but if the parents themselves did nothing sensible there could be no hope of improvement.
The events of that evening confirmed me in all my worst opinions of the Bennet family. At supper, wanting to sit near to Elizabeth, I also found myself sitting near her mother. That lady was boasting in a loud voice to Lady Lucas of her own belief that Jane would soon be married to Bingley, finding it a matter for self-congratulation that Jane was a favourite with his sisters, that he lived only three miles from Longbourn, that he was such an agreeable man and so rich!
Indeed, the main circumstance was Bingley’s wealth: Mrs Bennet mentioned Bingley’s income with relish and fully expected this to benefit the rest of her family, besides giving her girls the opportunity of meeting other rich young men.
I listened in growing indignation and contempt. I saw Elizabeth speak in a low voice to her mother, and though I did not hear what she said, it was made clear enough by her mother’s next words: ‘And what is Mr Darcy to me, pray? I am sure we owe him no particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he might not like to hear.’
For Elizabeth’s sake I schooled my countenance into a steady expression and pretended not to hear, but I doubt she was deceived.
Mrs Bennet carried on, regardless of who might hear. Others caught her words and were no less disgusted than I was, but it seemed she had not the perception to observe this.
It was some time before she had exhausted the subject of Bingley and Jane. When she had, I heard a few allusions which I did not, at first, understand. Then, to my consternation, I become aware the lady also thought Elizabeth would soon be married. Consternation gave way to astonishment, for Mrs Bennet had no designs on me. The husband she intended for Elizabeth was none other than Mr William Collins.
Elizabeth wore her blank-faced expression, and now it was clear to me what had been the cause of all her ill-humour. Mr Collins had designs on Elizabeth and had been teasing her with attentions which were most unwelcome.
Mrs Bennet was going to be disappointed, for Elizabeth had no intention of gratifying her hopes. I smiled, confident enough to be diverted by the notion, for I now understood Elizabeth’s eagerness to find Miss Lucas at the start of the evening. I thought it likely she had entreated that lady to spare her, if she could, from the man’s attentions.
After supper, I set myself the task of discovering the extent of Jane Bennet’s feelings for Bingley. I watched her closely, but I could detect no symptom of love. Her countenance was amiable, smiling, serene. She liked him; she enjoyed his attentions; she knew he liked her and I had no doubt she would marry him, if he asked her, for he had much to recommend him as a husband.
Had Bingley actually engaged the lady’s feelings, then he would have to take the consequences, but I did not think he had. I had seen affection in her gaze, but only when she looked at Elizabeth.
Had she regarded Bingley with only half the affection she showed for her sister, I would have felt myself obliged to let matters take their course. I confess it came as a relief that she did not. I had no wish to wound her feelings but I had no compunction about ruining the hopes and expectations I supposed her to be entertaining.
I spent some time musing on the best way to detach Bingley from Jane Bennet and it seemed as if the rest of the Bennet family were determined to strengthen my resolution by exposing their own defects as much as possible.
Mary Bennet, always eager to display her accomplishments, seated herself at the pianoforte and obliged the company to sit through an interminable performance. Eventually, her father exerted himself to stop her, but with such sarcasm as to distress the girl and embarrass the rest of the company.
Mr Collins then drew the attention of everyone in the room. I had already discovered the fellow never made conversation: he made speeches. He made one now, beginning with the announcement that if he could sing he would be very happy to entertain us all, somehow digressing to his duties as a clergyman and his respect for his patroness (and other members of her family), concluding with a bow in my direction.
‘Let us all give thanks that Mr Collins cannot sing,’ sniggered Caroline Bingley. ‘He would be certain to dedicate his song to you.’
‘The parishioners of Hunsford have all my sympathy,’ I said grimly. ‘I shall have something to say to my aunt when next I write to her.’
Mrs Bennet approved of Mr Collins. She told Lady Lucas he was a good, clever young man. Mr Bennet shook with silent laughter whilst Elizabeth compressed her lips in vexation.
There was but little relief when the dancing recommenced: the younger Bennets made an even worse exhibition of themselves than I had previously witnessed, chasing after the officers and shrieking with laughter.
Mr Collins stayed by Elizabeth, no doubt subjecting her to his absurd speeches for the rest of the evening. Charlotte Lucas joined them whenever she could.
At the end of the evening, the silly matchmaking designs of Mrs Bennet had the Longbourn party still waiting for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everyone else had gone.
When the carriage arrived, Elizabeth, the one I could least bear to part from, was the first to step inside.
We saw them off at last, but not before Mrs Bennet had pressed an invitation to dinner on Bingley. Bingley said he would be happy to accept as soon as he returned from London.
I remained silent: if I had my way – and I meant to – Bingley would not return from London. If I had my way – and I meant to – none of us would see the Bennets ever again.
Six
BINGLEY LEFT NETHERFIELD for London early on the following day. I saw him off for, with so much on my mind, I had slept but little.
‘I am glad you are awake, Darcy,’ he said, ‘for I rather wanted a word with you.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Last night….’
‘Yes?’ I asked, with sudden suspicion.
I was presented with a problem which was not the one uppermost in my mind. He said: ‘Jane was asking me all manner of questions: it seems she and Elizabeth have heard some kind of story from that man you detest so much, Wickham.’
‘I suspected as much,’ I said disdainfully.
‘Well, they do not particularly want to believe it,’ said Bingley, ‘which shows they have good sense. But I did not wish to disclose your business, Darcy, not without your permission. Although I vouched for your character, of course.’
‘I thank you.’
‘Jane says Lizzy is anxious to know the whole story,’ he told me. ‘And I think perhaps you should disclose it, Darcy, because if this man is slandering you, she is the one to trust. I know you do not like her very much but you may believe she is not as frivolous as she sometimes appears. Elizabeth Bennet commands a lot of respect in this neighbourhood. Oh, do not look at me like that, I know the idea of opening up your private affairs is repugnant to you: sometimes it is necessary to prevent a greater evil.’
‘I will give the matter some thought,’ I said, all astonishment to learn what strange ideas Bingley had regarding my opinion of Elizabeth.
Bingley gave me a friendly punch and urged me to do just that before stepping into his carriage and bidding me farewell.
I walked back to the house, deep in thought. I had
been touched to learn the two ladies were disposed to believe in me, especially in the face of whatever falsehood Wickham had proposed. It was not the usual state of affairs, for Wickham’s engaging manners could deceive even the most sceptical before his true nature was understood.
Perhaps I should have been more forthcoming with Elizabeth when I danced with her, for I knew she had been probing to get at the truth. Now, I was tempted to take Bingley’s advice, seek her out and lay the whole truth before her, resolving her own doubts and giving a clear warning to the rest of the neighbourhood. It would also give me a chance to see her for one last time before I left Hertfordshire.
I shook my head, deciding against it. I was beginning to understand myself: I could be forever finding excuses to see her ‘one last time’. This time I could not allow my resolve to weaken, for I had not only myself to consider, and my friend was in more danger even than I was. It was imperative, now, to extricate Bingley from what I could only regard as a most unhappy connection.
At breakfast, I discovered the events at the ball had also alerted the ladies to the danger Bingley was in. ‘Really, it is all too tiresome,’ complained Mrs Hurst. ‘I do wish Charles would stop falling in love with every pretty face he sees. Jane Bennet is a sweet girl, but I am persuaded she is not quite right for my brother. What do you think, Mr Darcy?’
I told her what I thought, most emphatically.
Caroline Bingley looked most struck. ‘I own I had not thought Charles to be quite as partial to her as that,’ she admitted. ‘But perhaps you are right. What do you suggest we do?’
‘We must join your brother in London tomorrow at the latest,’ I said. ‘And we must persuade him to remain there.’
There was but one person of our party who objected to my plan, and greatly to my astonishment: Mr Hurst was of the opinion we should not interfere.
‘Deuced fine woman,’ he said of Jane Bennet. ‘Bingley won’t find another like her.’
‘No one is disputing that,’ I informed him coldly. ‘Her family is the problem: you know my views on that subject.’