Elizabeth Bennet

by Eliza Gordon

  This letter pained Elizabeth; but her spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by Miss Bingley. All expectation from Mr. Bingley was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for a renewal of his attention. His character sunk on every review of it. As a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.

  Mrs. Gardiner reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman and required information.

  Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it.

  The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable. Elizabeth, less clear-sighted in this case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural. While able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she could very sincerely wish him happy.

  All this was acknowledged in a letter to Mrs. Gardiner. After relating the circumstances, she thus went on, "I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love. Had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion then I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil? But my feelings are not only cordial towards him; they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual. Though I certainly should be a more interesting object to all my acquaintances were I distractedly in love with him, I do not regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain."

  Chapter 24

  January and February passed with no great events in the Longbourn family.

  In March, Elizabeth went to Hunsford to visit Charlotte. Her fellow-travellers were Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself. They both had nothing to say that could be worth hearing and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had already known Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood. His civilities were worn out, like his information.

  It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. When they entered the passage in the Gardiner's home, Jane was there to welcome them looking healthy and lovely as ever.

  On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room. Their shyness, as they had not seen her for twelvemonths, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away. The morning in bustle and shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.

  Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was her sister. She was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch Street. She repeated conversations occurring at different times, which proved Jane had given up the acquaintance.

  Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion and complimented her on bearing it so well.

  "But my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary."

  "Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me because it would be imprudent. Now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary."

  "If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think."

  "She is a very good kind of girl. I know no harm of her."

  "But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune."

  "No—why should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain my affections because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?"

  "But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attention towards her so soon after this event."

  "A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we?"

  "Her not objecting does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in something herself—sense or feeling."

  "Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish."

  "No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire."

  "Oh! If that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire. And their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven, I am going tomorrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all."

  "Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment."

  Chapter 25

  Every object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth.

  Her spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had seen Jane looking so well as to banish all fear for her health.

  When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it into view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.

  At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloped to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge, everything declared they were arriving. The carriage stopped at the small gate which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, and rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure. Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received.

  She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage. His formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house. As soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and repeated his wife's offers of refreshment.

  Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory. She could not help fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. Everything seemed neat and comfortable, but she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance. Rather she looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful a
n air with such a companion.

  When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might be ashamed, which certainly was not seldom, Elizabeth turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush, but in general, Charlotte wisely did not hear.

  They sat long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had happened in London. After this, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden. It was large and well laid out, and he attended to the cultivation.

  To work in this garden was one of his most respectable pleasures.

  Here, leading the way through every walk, every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He scarcely allowed them an interval to utter the praises he expected. He could number the fields in every direction and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump.

  Of all the views the entire kingdom could boast, none were comparable with the prospect of Rosings, as afforded by an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground.

  From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows. But the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white frost, turned back. While Sir William accompanied Mr. Collins, Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house.

  At dinner, Mr. Collins observed, "Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church. I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not, but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week and are never allowed to walk home. Her Ladyship's carriage is ordered for us. I should say, one of her Ladyship's carriages, for she has several."

  "Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed," added Charlotte. "And a most attentive neighbour."

  "Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference."

  The evening was spent talking over Hertfordshire news and telling again what had already been written. Later, in the solitude of her chamber, Elizabeth meditated upon Charlotte's degree of contentment.

  About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in confusion.

  After listening a moment, she heard somebody running up stairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her.

  She opened the door and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with agitation, cried out, "Oh, my dear Eliza! Pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment."

  Elizabeth asked questions in vain.

  Maria would tell her nothing more. Down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in quest of this wonder. It was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

  "And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter."

  "La! my dear," said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, "it is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them; the other is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small?"

  "She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind. Why does she not come in?"

  "Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when Miss de Bourgh comes in."

  "I like her appearance," Elizabeth said, struck with other ideas. "She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife."

  Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with the ladies. Stationed in the doorway stood Sir William, engaged in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that way.

  At length, there was nothing more to be said. The ladies drove on, and the others returned to the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune. Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at Rosings the next day.

  Chapter 26

  Mr. Collins's triumph was complete. "I should not have been at all surprised by her Ladyship's invitation to spend the evening at Rosings on Sunday. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen."

  He wished only to display the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors and let them see her civility towards himself and his wife. He continued, "But who could have foreseen such attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there? An invitation, moreover, including the whole party so immediately after your arrival!"

  Sir William replied, "I am not surprised at what has happened. My situation in life has allowed me to acquire knowledge of the manners of the great. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon."

  Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings.

  Mr. Collins carefully instructed them in what they were to expect, the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner.

  "Do not make yourself uneasy about your apparel," he said to Elizabeth. "Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest, there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved."

  While they were dressing, Mr. Collins came two or three times to their different doors, to recommend haste. Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts of her Ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas who had been little used to company. She looked forward to her introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's.

  As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects. Elizabeth saw much to please, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire. His enumeration of the windows in front of the house did not affect her. Neither did his relation of what the glazing altogether had cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.

  When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing. Even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. The mere stateliness of money or rank she could witness without trepidation. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that suggested extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue.

  Mr. Collins pointed out the fine proportion of the rooms and the finished ornaments in the house. This account given with a rapturous air as they followed the servants. From the entrance-hall, they passed through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting.

  Her Ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them. Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be hers. It was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.

  In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word. His daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to loo
k.

  Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene and observed the three ladies before her.

  Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating. Her manner of receiving them made sure her visitors did not forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence. Whatever she said was in so authoritative a tone, as to marked her self-importance. She brought Mr. Wickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind.

  In the manner and appearance of the mother, Elizabeth saw some resemblance of Mr. Darcy. She then turned her eyes on the daughter. Elizabeth could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly. Her features, though not plain, were insignificant. She spoke very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson. In turn, there was nothing remarkable in her appearance, and she was entirely engaged in listening.