by Jann Rowland
This seemed to reach Bennet, and he leaned forward. “Elizabeth is intelligent?”
“Very much so,” returned Gardiner. “I know you are well read. Speak to her of Milton or Shakespeare when you have the opportunity. I believe you will be surprised at some of her insights.”
For the briefest of moments, the lines around Bennet’s face softened, and his eyes lost their focus. Gardiner had always known that his brother-in-law craved someone with whom he could speak on an equal basis, and though Jane was intelligent in her own right, her interests would not likely mesh with those of her father. And given some of the reports Gardiner had received over the years—though there had been nothing from the Bennets themselves, Gardiner’s sister Phillips had kept him informed—Mary was interested in nothing more than moral texts, and the younger girls were a lost cause. Bennet had tired of his wife’s lack of intelligent conversation years earlier.
But the moment lasted only an instant before the hard look came over his brother’s eyes yet again. He nodded in a sharp manner and said: “I shall speak with her.”
Gardiner regarded him with skepticism, but he chose not to address his brother’s curt demeanor.
“I would have you understand the true situation, Bennet. As I said, I have no concerns for Elizabeth’s physical welfare under you care. But I will not hide from you the fact that I am very concerned for her state of mind.”
“And you should not be,” said Bennet in a gruff tone. He fixed a baleful glare on Gardiner and continued: “I shall remind you that regardless of how Elizabeth has lived with you these past ten years, I am still her father and still her guardian.”
To say that Gardiner was unimpressed by this show of force was an understatement. “Yes, but you are a father who has not acted as one.”
Bennet glared at him, but Gardiner would not be intimidated. “I challenge you to refute this, Bennet. I told you ten years ago that if you would only take your wife in hand, I would not have to take Elizabeth into my home. You declaimed any ability or inclination to do so, which is why I acted as I did.
“But you must also understand that I will not allow Elizabeth to be returned to the state she was when she left your care. You and I have not had any direct contact since we left, but you should know that my annual income is now substantially more than what you receive from Longbourn. I am also aware that your estate is your only source of income.”
“Are you threatening me?” snarled Bennet. This was a side of his brother that Gardiner had never seen before—it was an impressive head of steam, but it still did not make Gardiner quail. He had seen similar displeasure from men of much more social clout and intimidating demeanors than his brother possessed.
“I do not threaten,” said Gardiner, though his tone was hard. “I am telling you to treat her as a valued member of your family. I should tell you that it was the opinion of both Sarah and myself that your summons should be ignored. The only reason we are here at all is at Elizabeth’s insistence.”
“And what would you have done when I brought a suit against you?”
“Defended Elizabeth to the best of my ability,” replied Gardiner, his relentless gaze never wavering. “I would not have enjoyed bankrupting you for Elizabeth’s sake, but I would have done it if required.”
Bennet did not even bat an eye. “The courts favor keeping children with their parents.”
“That preference can be overturned, and I would not have spared any mention of your behavior—or even that of my sister, for that matter. I have many contacts, Bennet. I would not be telling you of this if I was not confident of my success.”
The glare did not lessen for some time, and Gardiner met his brother’s fierce look in every respect.
Eventually, the war of wills subsided, and Bennet sat back in his chair. “This discussion is pointless, as I have no intention of mistreating the girl.”
“Why did you call her home after all this time?” asked Gardiner. “She has been happy with us and has largely known no other life. Why now?”
“Because it is time for her to learn her true place in society,” was Bennet’s reply. “She is the daughter of a gentleman. She needs to learn what that means as she prepares herself to find a husband.”
Gardiner regarded the other man with great skepticism. “I was not aware that you were at all concerned about your daughter’s prospects.” Bennet did nothing more than scowl, so Gardiner continued: “I am aware that you can give your daughters very little, Bennet. Though I would like to think that their charms are enough to find them respectable husbands, you cannot expect them to make exceptional matches.”
“On the contrary,” replied Bennet in a gruff tone, “there is a new arrival of some fortune who has been paying considerable attention to Jane, and we have high hopes that this will lead to an engagement.”
“Oh? And who is this man?”
“His name is Bingley. He comes from a background in trade, but he is seeking to purchase an estate and is leasing Netherfield in order to gain some experience.”
“And have you checked into this man’s background?”
A blank look met Gardiner’s query. “Should I have?”
Gardiner sighed. His brother had always been indolent, but this particular failure suggested a lack of care which was far out of the common way. “Yes, you should have. There are many men of society who are not what they claim to be.”
Bennet waved his hand with impatience. “As you have so ably pointed out, my girls have nothing to tempt a fortune hunter, so there is little danger.”
It was not as if Bennet was stupid or deficient in any way other than his unfortunate tendency to ignore anything which would cause him to have to exert himself, but Gardiner was almost unable to believe what he was hearing. Discussion with the man was futile, so Gardiner decided that he would have this Mr. Bingley investigated himself.
“Very well. As for Elizabeth, see that she is well taken care of. I will not hesitate to intervene.”
And then, before Bennet could once again state his displeasure with Gardiner’s treatment of him, Gardiner said: “You should also know that I have settled a dowry on your daughter. It is perhaps not as much as I would have liked, but as I have two daughters of my own to consider, it is the best that I could do for the moment.”
At this intelligence, Bennet actually appeared to be affronted. “Was that not a little presumptuous?”
“Until a few days ago, we thought that Elizabeth would remain with us until she left for her own home,” replied Gardiner pointedly. “You have given us no indication over the past ten years that you ever wished to have her back. I wished to give her every advantage in finding a husband or being able to support herself should she remain unmarried.”
Bennet grunted. “How much?”
“Ten thousand pounds,” said Gardiner, watching for his brother’s reaction. It was slightly heartening that Bennet’s eyes only widened in response. Gardiner saw nothing else to give him concern.
“It seems you have done well for yourself after all.”
Shrugging, Gardiner replied, “Well enough.
“Now, I will take my leave of you after I have said my farewell to Elizabeth. Would my sister welcome me if I paid my respects to her before I leave?”
Bennet grimaced. “You may wish to spare yourself the trouble. As I told you when you spirited Elizabeth from this house, I have had to bear the brunt of your sister’s ill humor, and she has still not desisted to this day. She particularly blames you.”
Nodding, Gardiner rose to his feet. “In that case, I shall not brave her displeasure. I am no more eager to exchange ‘pleasantries’ than she is.” He turned, but as he opened the door, he faced his brother once again. Bennet’s expression had not softened in the slightest. If anything, it had gotten harder, and Gardiner wondered just what game he was playing. He was concerned that Bennet had something specific in mind for his summons, but Gardiner was not able to discern what it was.
“Just remember,
Bennet—treat her well, or I shall remove her from this house again, with or without your approval. Do not test me.”
Then, without another word, Gardiner turned and left the bookroom.
Elizabeth said farewell to her uncle amid admonishments to correspond regularly and whispered instructions to contact him at once if anything untoward happened. Elizabeth appreciated his concern, but she was certain that whatever the reason her father had for summoning her home, it must have been a benign one. Regardless, she was not one to be intimidated, and she would meet her fate cheerfully.
Jane was much as Elizabeth remembered—sweet, pleasant, and intelligent, yet reticent and placid and seemingly very adept at hiding her thoughts. Elizabeth was certain that they would eventually be as close as sisters could be when they were given enough time in one another’s company. Elizabeth had spent a very agreeable half hour with her sister before her uncle had departed, and they were about to return to the room which had been assigned to Elizabeth when a summons arrived through a maid for them to present themselves before their mother in the parlor.
Suddenly tense and knowing that this was at the very least likely to be awkward, Elizabeth nevertheless straightened her shoulders and motioned for Jane to precede her.
“Do not worry, Elizabeth,” whispered Jane. “I believe that all shall be well.”
Though Elizabeth thought her sister was being more than a little too optimistic, she said nothing and allowed herself to be led into the parlor where her mother waited.
The room was much as Elizabeth remembered. Her changed perspective and the ravages of time did account for some of the differences that were present. The furnishings were comfortable and well appointed, if somewhat shabbier than she remembered; the wallpaper was a little more faded, and in general, the room simply felt . . . somehow smaller, though she suspected that it was merely that she had grown in the interim. It was a good room and very handsome for a family of the Bennets’ status. But it did not feel like home—unfortunately, there was too much time and distance involved for her to feel that way about it. And besides, it was not her uncle and aunt’s place of residence, which had been home to her for the past ten years.
All of these thoughts passed through Elizabeth’s mind in an instant, for her attention was captured immediately by the occupants of the room. An older woman sat with three younger girls, and Elizabeth knew they were her other sisters. Mary was easy to identify, as she was dressed in a most conservative fashion and had her hair tied up in a tight and conservative bun; even as a girl of seven, Mary had always been a serious child. The two younger girls were Catherine and Lydia, though as they were both of a size of one another and possessed robust, womanly figures, it was difficult to determine which was the elder and which the younger. Elizabeth’s memories of those two girls was largely unpleasant, as they had both picked up on their mother’s antipathy for her at a young age and had begun to tease her before she had left.
The woman who sat in their midst was still youthful-appearing and spry, and Elizabeth thought that the passage of time had been kind to her. Mrs. Bennet appeared to be regarding Elizabeth as if she were some particularly repulsive wild animal which must be watched carefully.
“Step closer, child,” commanded Mrs. Bennet when Elizabeth hesitated in the doorway. “I would prefer not to strain my neck by looking up at you.”
“Yes, mother,” replied Elizabeth. In truth, she was not certain how exactly to refer to her mother. Their long estrangement made ‘mama’ seem too familiar, not to mention the fact that her memories of unkindness at the hands of this woman rendered her little inclined to pay the compliment of the respect such an appellation would suggest. The more formal ‘mother’ was outwardly respectful enough while still allowing Elizabeth to think of Mrs. Gardiner as her true ‘mama,’ even though Elizabeth had never addressed her as such.
“Well, it appears my brother has kept you well fed and cared for,” said Mrs. Bennet after inspecting Elizabeth for several moments. “And I can see that he has provided you with clothes of ample quality, though my sister Gardiner is obviously not my equal in choosing the proper style, regardless of her knowledge of what is currently in fashion.”
“Yes, mother,” replied Elizabeth. “I am very grateful to the Gardiners.”
Mrs. Bennet stared at her very hard, evidently unhappy with the thought that she had been well cared for.
“You have participated in a season in London, I presume?”
“Yes, mother.”
“And you are not yet attached?”
“No, mother.”
“My Lydia would not have allowed such an opportunity to pass her by,” said Mrs. Bennet, gesturing toward the taller of Elizabeth’s two younger sisters. Elizabeth was surprised, having thought that Catherine would be the taller sister, if for no other reason than the fact that she was two years older.
But Elizabeth was given no further opportunity to think on the matter, as Mrs. Bennet had continued speaking: “Perhaps you were given no instruction concerning the best way to capture a husband.”
Though Elizabeth did not really care for this talk of “capturing” a husband, she ignored it. “I did not find a man whom I thought would suit me.”
Mrs. Bennet’s nose wrinkled with displeasure. “Perhaps you should think of the more practical things in life. Once your father passes on, I shall not be able to keep you, so you should take thought for your future. I have to think of these things due to the circumstances, you understand.”
Although Elizabeth understood the thrust of her mother’s words very well indeed, she refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she replied with a barely audible, “I shall.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed with disdain. “I am not certain whether you remember your sisters. This is Mary, and here are your youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet, pointing at each girl in turn.
Mary greeted Elizabeth in a mild fashion, but the two youngest, who had been whispering and giggling between them, only giggled harder, causing Elizabeth to suppress a frown. Theirs did not suggest proper behavior, though Elizabeth knew not to point that out.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Bennet once the introductions had been completed. “You may go and settle in to your room. Your sisters will see that you arrive to the dinner table at the proper time, I am sure.”
Nodding, Elizabeth dropped a very shallow curtsey and turned to follow her elder sister from the room. Before they left, however, they were arrested by the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s voice:
“Though you have lived in London, partaken in the season, and wear finer clothes than the rest of my girls, you must not think that you are any better than they are.”
Aghast at the mere suggestion, Elizabeth turned to regard her mother. Mrs. Bennet was glaring at her with a hard and unfriendly expression, and she appeared to be daring Elizabeth to contradict her words. Elizabeth had no thought of disagreeing, though she wondered why the woman could think such a thing of her.
“I assure you that I do not,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet grunted in response, and Elizabeth, sensing that she was dismissed, turned and left the room, all the time wondering what sort of situation she had gotten herself into.
Chapter V
The first few days after Elizabeth’s return to Longbourn passed, and though she did not truly feel at ease in her old home, at least she did not precisely feel unwelcome. She still had no knowledge of why she had been summoned back to her father’s house, but at this point, she supposed it truly did not matter.
Of her family, she was still uncertain as to each of their characters, though some definite trends had emerged quickly. Of course, the easiest to determine were her two youngest sisters. The giggles that Elizabeth had witnessed the first time she had met her mother and younger sisters in the parlor were only the prelude to the true depth of their poor behavior. They were loud, rude, fought with one another constantly, and showed very little knowledge of—or interest in—the proper sort of behavior
expected of young ladies. And though there were no social engagements those first few days, Elizabeth felt certain that her two youngest sisters would acquit themselves with even less distinction out in society.
Unfortunately, they were also much as she remembered them in their treatment of herself specifically. That very evening before dinner, the two girls had burst into her room while she was talking with Jane and began to pepper her with questions of London, the season, and everything else which came into their flighty minds.
The true unpleasantness came near the end of the conversation. Elizabeth answered all their questions with as much composure as she could muster, and when their questions died down, Elizabeth chanced to say:
“London is perhaps not all that you imagine, Kitty. But maybe someday you shall be able to go and experience it for yourself.”
Kitty had smiled hesitantly and thanked her, but she was immediately overshadowed by her younger sister’s glare.
“I do not think that people such as you should be on so intimate terms as to use Kitty’s nickname,” said she in a rather prim manner. “Kitty, I think that you should insist on Elizabeth calling you ‘Catherine.’”
Though Elizabeth was rather shocked at the young girl’s forthrightness, she peered back at Kitty, only to see a rather uncomfortable frown on her face. Deciding that it was much better to not antagonize her sisters on her first day in the house, Elizabeth had nodded and replied:
“Of course, if that it is what you prefer.”
Though still looking uncomfortable, Kitty replied that it was, and she immediately became Catherine in Elizabeth’s eyes. The incident also illustrated another important fact of the relationship between the two youngest Bennets. Simply put, though Catherine was the elder of the two sisters by two years, she was also a follower and orbited around Lydia’s determined and forthright nature, emulating her in the hope, or so Elizabeth suspected, of gaining her mother’s approval.