Elizabeth Bennet

by Eliza Gordon

  This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only regimental uniform to make him completely charming. His appearance was in his favour, a fine face, a good figure, and very pleasing address. He was also ready with correct and unassuming happy conversation.

  The whole party were still standing and talking together when the sound of horses drew their notice.

  Riding down the street came Darcy and Bingley. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came towards them and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and his Miss Bennet the principal object.

  He was on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her, Mr. Bingley explained.

  Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow.

  Elizabeth noticed that suddenly Mr. Darcy was arrested by the sight of the new men in town. She watched further.

  Both men changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat—a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.

  What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine, and she longed to know.

  Mr. Bingley did not seem to notice what passed. In another minute, he took leave and rode on with Darcy.

  Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Phillip's house, and then made their bows. In spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they should come in they declined. Even in spite of Mrs. Phillips's throwing up the parlour window and loudly seconding the invitation.

  Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces. The two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome.

  She received Mr. Collins with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologising for his intrusion. Mrs. Phillips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding. Her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about the other.

  She could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's commission.

  She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street. Had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation.

  No one passed windows now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with the stranger, were "stupid, disagreeable fellows."

  Some of them were to dine with the Phillipses the next day. Their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an invitation also if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening.

  This was agreed to. Mrs. Phillips proposed they would have a nice, comfortable, noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits.

  Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.

  As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Jane would have defended either or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong. She could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.

  Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Phillips's manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman. Mrs. Phillips had not only received him with the utmost civility but even included him in her invitation.

  Chapter 13

  No objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt. Mr. Collins's was reassured about all his concerns about leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit. The coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton.

  When they had all taken their seats in the drawing-room, the girls had the pleasure of hearing that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation.

  It seemed a long wait for the gentlemen to arrive.

  In general, the officers were a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party. When the dashing Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth once again admired him. Mr. Wickham was far beyond the other officers in appearance, air, and walk. As the officers were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

  Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye turned. In turn, Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself.

  In agreeable manner, they immediately fell into conversation. His skill as a speaker might render interesting the dullest, most threadbare topics.

  With Mr. Wickham and the officers as rivals for the fair ladies' attention, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into insignificance. To the young ladies, he was nothing, but he had a kind listener in Mrs. Phillips. She supplied him most abundantly with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.

  "I know little of the game at present, but I will be glad to improve myself."

  Mrs. Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.

  Mr. Wickham did not play at whist. With ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia.

  At first, there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker. But being fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, to have attention for anyone in particular.

  Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was thus at leisure to talk to Elizabeth. In turn, she was very willing to hear him. What she chiefly wished to hear about, however, she could not hope he would tell—the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy.

  She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton. After receiving her answer, he asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

  "About a month," said Elizabeth. Unwilling to let the subject drop, she added, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."

  "Yes," replied Mr. Wickham. "His estate there is a noble one. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself. I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."

  Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

  "You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

  "As much as I ever wish to be," said Elizabeth very warmly. "I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable."

  "I have no right to give my opinion, as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge," said Wickham. "It is impossible for me to be impartial. But your opinion of him would, in general, astonish many people. Perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else? Here you are in your own family."

  "Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone."

  "I cannot pretend to be sorry that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts. With him, I believe it does not often happen. The world sees him only as he chooses to be seen. It is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners."

  "I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.

  "I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is likely to be in this country much longer."

  "I do not at all know, but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans will not
be affected by his being in the neighbourhood."

  "Oh! no—it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always pains me to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him. What I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous. I could forgive him anything and everything, except his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father."

  The delicacy of the subject prevented Elizabeth from further inquiry.

  Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, and the society. He seemed pleased with all that he had seen.

  "It was the prospect of constant society, and good society, which was my chief inducement to come here. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps. My friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the excellent acquaintances in Meryton. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church. I should now have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased Mr. Darcy."

  "Indeed!" Elizabeth could barely contain her curiosity.

  "Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather and attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

  "Good heavens! but how could that be? " Elizabeth inquired. "How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress?"

  "There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it. He treated it as a conditional recommendation, and to asserted that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance. Certain it is, that the house that was to be mine became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it. It was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and he hates me."

  "This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

  "Some time or other he will be—but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

  Impressed by his integrity, Elizabeth admired such a man for his feelings, and thought him more handsome than ever as he expressed them.

  "But what can have been his motive?" Elizabeth asked, after a pause, " What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"

  "A thorough, determined dislike of me. A dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better. His father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me."

  "I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in genera. I never suspected him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this."

  She paused for a few minutes of reflection. "I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful."

  "I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham; "I can hardly be just to him."

  Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!" She thought about how his very appearance may vouch for his amiability. She contented herself with, "and one, who had been his companion from childhood, connected, as you said, in the closest manner!"

  "We were born in the same parish, within the same park. The greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father began life in the legal profession, which your uncle, Mr. Phillips, appears to do so much credit to. But father gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active supervision. When, immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me. I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him, as of his affection to myself."

  "How strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest. For dishonesty, I must call it."

  "It is wonderful, for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend," replied Wickham. "It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride."

  "Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?"

  "Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous. To give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride—for he is very proud of what his father was—have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He also has brotherly pride, which makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. You will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers."

  "What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?"

  He shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother—very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me. I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education."

  After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first. "I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

  "Not at all."

  "He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is."

  "Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He is able. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals, in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him. With the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and agreeable, allowing something for fortune and figure."

  The whist party soon afterwards broke up. The players gathered round the other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiries about his success were made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point. When Mrs. Phillips began to express her concern, he assured her that it was not of the least importance. With much earnest gravity he explained he considered the money as a mere trifle, a
nd begged that she would not make herself uneasy.

  "I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a card-table, they must take their chances of these things. Happily, I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters."

  Mr. Wickham's attention was caught, he observed Mr. Collins for a few moments. He then asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

  "Lady Catherine de Bourgh has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."

  "You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters. Consequently, she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."

  "No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing about Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday."

  "Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."

  This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions. Vain and useless Miss Bingley's affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined for another.

  "Mr. Collins speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter. But from some particulars that he has related of her Ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him. It sounds as if, in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman," said Elizabeth.

  "I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham. "I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her. Her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever. I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride for her nephew. He chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class."