by Jann Rowland
“It is possible that I am incorrect,” replied Mr. Darcy. The concerned look he directed at her suggested that his jovial tone was affected to pull her mind from gloomy thoughts. “Bingley’s handwriting is perhaps the worst I have ever seen—he leaves out words and blots the rest, and sometimes I wonder if I should have some key to decipher his code.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I have seen Mr. Bingley’s hand before, Mr. Darcy, and I am quite in agreement.”
“He claims it is due to the rapidity of his thoughts and their eagerness to escape his mind in favor of being expressed on the paper, but I suspect it is only because he cannot take the trouble to attempt neatness.”
“I do not disagree, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. It was a faithful portrayal of Jane’s husband, and it only endeared him to her all that much more. He was a delightful man, his worth not lessened by his inability to write in a way that anyone could read it.
“They will come in early July, though the exact date has not yet been determined,” said Mr. Darcy, his pleased smile suggesting satisfaction with the effort to redirect her melancholy, “and though the length of their stay has not yet been determined, I believe they are likely to remain for at least six weeks.”
Elizabeth digested this bit of news, wondering how she should feel about the imminent arrival of her sister. Though she had hope that Jane would be changed from the distant woman she had become, in her heart she knew it was unlikely. Even if her letters from her family had not referenced the continued distance between Netherfield and Longbourn, the feelings of Elizabeth’s heart would have given lie to the hope.
“And the Hursts?” said Elizabeth, realizing she had been silent for some time and sensing Mr. Darcy’s concern. “Are you to be gratified in your desire to avoid their society?”
With a laugh, Mr. Darcy said: “Indeed, we are to be blessed. Bingley has informed me that his eldest sister is with child and will not be traveling for some time, so we are spared their company, though I had not planned to invite them regardless.”
“Indeed?” said Elizabeth. “There was some talk of it when I was last in Hertfordshire. I am happy for them, though I do wonder what either Mr. or Mrs. Hurst will do with a child.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “They have been married for some years and neither seemed to repine the lack. If it is a son, I do not doubt that Hurst will set about corrupting him as soon as he is able to toddle about on his own feet. If a girl, I doubt he will give her any real notice, though I am not certain Mrs. Hurst will be much better.”
Though unable to withhold her laughter, Elizabeth still attempted to glare at her companion. “It is very unkind of you to say so, sir. I am certain that Mr. Hurst wishes for an heir, as would any man, and perhaps Mrs. Hurst will surprise you.”
“Perhaps she will,” said Mr. Darcy, though his expression suggested he did not hold much hope, and his tone was not at all apologetic. “Regardless, I am happy to escape their company, so the news is welcome.
“I hope you will be happy to see your family again, Miss Bennet. I know Bingley is quite eager to join us, and I suspect he wishes to look for an estate in the area while he is here.”
“And I will be happy to see him again,” replied Elizabeth, choosing to push thoughts of Jane residing in the neighborhood to the side. “I am not surprised he wishes to purchase an estate in a different county. My mother can be . . . Let us just say that she considers it her duty to advise Jane on all matters, and I do not doubt that Mr. Bingley is eager to put some distance between himself and Longbourn.”
“A typical mother, then, unable to let go of her eldest child.”
“Perhaps.”
“And your sister?” Mr. Darcy stopped walking and turned to face her. “Though I cannot imagine you eager to be in company with Miss Bingley again, I hope the prospect of meeting your sister again brings you pleasure.”
Elizabeth thought her pause was the briefest in nature, but the worry which creased Mr. Darcy’s forehead showed that he had noticed it. Elizabeth was uncertain what to say. She knew he had some knowledge, but she thought he was not acquainted with the true facts of the situation. To demure and proclaim herself eager to see Jane would be seen through, and the lie would be evident when she arrived. So, Elizabeth responded in the only way she knew how.
“My sister . . . Let us only say that marriage seems to have altered her. I will be happy to see her, but I know not if that sentiment will be returned.”
For a moment Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy would inquire further into the situation between Elizabeth and her sister. But though a question appeared to be on the tip of his tongue and his lips parted, he thought better of it and allowed it to remain unspoken. Instead, he gathered his thoughts and then said:
“Then I hope matters have changed, for I understand that you were once very close.”
“I hope so too, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, though she wondered if he could even hear her.
They continued to walk for some time after, though mostly in silence, both lost in their respective thoughts. Elizabeth was consumed with thoughts of her sister and her upcoming arrival, but that did not mean she was unaware of the silence between them. Although she had often observed that two people with little to say to each other often led to an uncomfortable situation, there was no such feeling that day with Mr. Darcy. On the contrary, she recognized the man’s solid presence, akin to the feeling of the warmth of the sunshine on her face or a good book and a crackling fire on a cold winter day. And she was comforted by it.
When Mr. Darcy excused himself to leave, Elizabeth stayed in the gardens for some time thinking. In truth, she could understand very little of her thoughts herself, for they seemed to jump in some random pattern from Jane to Mr. Darcy to her time in Derbyshire to what she left behind in Hertfordshire and to various other subjects. Olivia, dear girl that she was, sensed that Elizabeth was out of sorts and needed to think, and she absented herself, presumably returning to the house. Elizabeth was grateful for her forbearance, for she knew that she was not good company in her present state.
But one cannot stay in such an attitude for long without it adversely affecting one’s state of mind. It was a little later when Elizabeth first began feeling the initial hints of a headache, no doubt brought on by the combination of her jumbled thoughts and the bright sunshine which continued to shine down on her. She reached up and rubbed her temples, wincing at the pain. It would not be long, she thought, before it would be as a hammer beating on her head in time with the beating of her heart.
With a sigh, Elizabeth rose to her feet, intending to return to her room and lie down for a time, only to be arrested by the sight of Mrs. Drummond watching her. The woman’s customary sneer was present, as was the barely concealed hostility with which she usually greeted the world. But there was something else in her manner which Elizabeth could not quite define, but which suggested that her silence of the past weeks was about to be broken.
“You have been sitting in that attitude for too long,” said the woman. “Perhaps it would be best to see to your tasks for the day.”
“I completed those before Mr. Darcy came,” replied Elizabeth, not wishing to provoke an argument with her aunt. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will lie down for a time, for I have a headache.”
“So typical of a gentlewoman,” said Mrs. Drummond, almost spitting the last word out like it was an offensive taste in her mouth. “I told you when you came here that we had little room for your airs and fainting spells. This is a farm and you will do as you are asked or be sent home.”
“I have done everything that has been asked of me without complaint,” said Elizabeth. Wishing to avoid an argument was one thing, but Elizabeth was not about to put up with the woman’s slander. “I know of nothing of which you have cause to criticize.”
“I criticize your coming here. I did not wish for your presence.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Aunt. I have good relations with every other me
mber of your family; I wish we could put this animosity behind us and behave with civility, if not friendship.”
“Your friendship is not required.”
The venom with which the woman spoke informed Elizabeth that a bridge would not be built that day. The only help for the situation would be to absent herself immediately, which Elizabeth determined to do.
“If you will excuse me,” said she, and dropping into a shallow curtsey, she made to depart.
“It seems your pursuit of Mr. Darcy is bearing fruit.” The contempt in Mrs. Drummond’s voice startled Elizabeth, so virulent was it. “I believe you are now secure in the hope that he will propose to you.”
“I am no such thing. Mr. Darcy is a very good man, and should he propose to me, I would be honored, indeed.”
“He is nothing more than a proud rich man.”
“It is clear you do not know him if you think that.”
Mrs. Drummond took no notice of Elizabeth’s short tone. “I know enough of his ilk to know what kind of man he is. But I expect he will disappoint you in the end. Gentlemen of his station do not deign to pay attention to you women of yours for any reason but one. The question is, whether you will reject him when he asks.”
“Do not say anything else!” cried Elizabeth. “I will listen to no more of your poison!”
“It seems the truth is a difficult thing to face.”
Elizabeth would not deign to give such a ridiculous statement the benefit of her attention.
“I would ask what this unreasoning enmity you have for me and my family is, if I expected a sensible response.”
“I have every reason to despise your family.” The words were spoken quietly and without the force of the woman’s usual pronouncements, though Elizabeth was certain it was not because of a lack of confidence in the rightness of her position, whatever that was. Certain she was on the cusp of learning of her aunt’s long-held grudge, Elizabeth pressed her further.
“I cannot imagine what it could possibly be. We have not seen you in many years, so if you have hated us, you have hated us from afar. Is that not more than a little childish?”
“You do not know anything!” rasped Mrs. Drummond, her affront robbing her voice of its usual strident tones. “Of course, you would not understand—considering the creature who gave you birth.”
“My mother?” asked Elizabeth, wondering what the woman was going on about. “What has she to do with anything?”
“She has everything to do with it.” Mrs. Drummond walked away, her shoulders heaving, drawing great breaths of air which seemed to do nothing to calm her.
“You are aware of your mother’s origins, are you not,” said Mrs. Drummond at length, though the strain in her voice made her difficult to understand. “I would not put it past her to try to pass herself off as a gentlewoman, little though she deserves the appellation.”
“I am aware of my mother’s background,” replied Elizabeth. “Her father was the solicitor in Meryton, he the grandson of a gentleman whose estate was further to the north.”
“Then you are aware she is no gentlewoman.”
“I know she was not born to that estate,” replied Elizabeth carefully. “But she is now, given she has married a gentleman.”
Mrs. Drummond’s snort told Elizabeth exactly what the woman thought of that assertion. “In name, perhaps. But she will never be anything other than an uncouth, loud, social climber. Your manners are somewhat acceptable, so I do not doubt you have seen the deficiencies in your mother.”
Though Elizabeth had most certainly seen her mother’s faults, she was not about to confess them to this woman. “You object to my mother.”
“Of course, I do!” cried Mrs. Drummond, spinning to face Elizabeth. “I knew her when she was a young woman, knew her as she entered society and set about attempting to entrap my brother. I always knew her for what she was, knew what kind of a grasping, artful shrew she was. I cannot imagine she has improved over the years.
“But my brother, enamored as he was by her beauty and liveliness, allowed himself to be caught by the woman, forever tainting our line. The Bennets have never been high on society’s ladder, but we have long been the masters of Longbourn, long been a respectable family. Your father threw that away in a moment of infatuation, when he married his empty-headed solicitor’s daughter. How I despised him for being so weak!”
“But what can it be to you?” asked Elizabeth. “It was his choice. What possible effect could it have on you?”
“It seems you are not nearly so intelligent as you want others to think,” spat Mrs. Drummond. “Do you not see that his marrying so unsuitable a woman tainted me? I was painted by the same brush as his strumpet of a wife. I had a suitor—a good man who, though he was not high in society himself, was a gentleman of some means and property. But when your father married the daughter of a country solicitor, my suitor decided that he did not wish to gain such connections and ended our courtship. It was your father’s fault, brought on by the fact that he could not control himself when confronted by a pretty face with no more intelligence than a sow!”
A harsh bark of laughter escaped the woman’s lips. “As a result, I was forced to settle for your uncle, a man who is a gentleman in name only. In raising herself, your mother has managed to lower me to this state, a state which I despise. I was meant to be a gentlewoman. I was born to be a gentlewoman! But now I am nothing more than the wife of a farmer, forced to be mother to his brats. And this estate, so erroneously named ‘Kingsdown’—it is a bitter irony that such a low shell of an estate should have such a grandiose name. If it was my choice, I would rename it to something much more appropriate to indicate the squalor in which we live!”
Mrs. Drummond’s breast was heaving by the time she finished her diatribe, and Elizabeth could not have been more shocked. Yes, her mother was not born a gentlewoman and Elizabeth had often been embarrassed by her ways, but she had never thought such vitriol would exist. Her mother was improper at times, but she was nothing like Mrs. Drummond described.
“Perhaps what you say is true, Aunt,” said Elizabeth, her own frame shaking with anger at this unjustified attack. “But consider this: my mother, for all her faults and limitations, is a good woman who loves her children and does the best to fill a role she was not born to. By contrast, you are a hard, unfeeling woman who torments the children to whom she gave birth and a husband who is a good and industrious man, no matter what is his position in life. You have become nothing but a bitter, twisted, shell of a woman, one who blames her misfortunes in life on another. I think it would be best if you looked at yourself in the mirror and asked the person you see there why you are so discontented in your life. If you are honest with yourself, I am certain you will not like the answer.”
Elizabeth turned and marched away from the woman, wishing to end this confrontation. She expected Mrs. Drummond to follow her, to take offense to Elizabeth’s words and demand she leave Kingsdown immediately. But she appeared rooted to the spot where Elizabeth had left her.
A few moments later Elizabeth reached the sanctuary of her room, and she stormed inside, leaving the outside world behind. She sat herself on her bed, brooding about the scene that had just played out, her disgust with her aunt in the forefront of her mind. But as she thought, her mind kept going back to the bitter woman, and the more she thought of it, the more she wondered if she had been told everything. Surely her aunt’s account of the matter alone was not one to be believed explicitly. There must be something she was unwilling to say or did not consider in her bitterness.
Elizabeth knew she could approach her uncle and he would explain to her as best he could, but she knew her uncle suffered because of his wife’s behavior and did not wish to add to his burdens. There was one other to whom she could turn, though. And Elizabeth intended to ask him.
Thus decided, Elizabeth went to the small desk in the room and began to compose a letter.
Chapter XIX
If it was not thoughts of Lady Emily’s behavior, it was reflections of Mrs. Drummond’s words which dominated Elizabeth’s contemplations. While Elizabeth had not seen much of Lady Emily in recent days, Mrs. Drummond was, of course, a constant presence. She said little to Elizabeth, though her eyes often followed Elizabeth’s movements, and Elizabeth could not determine what the woman was thinking. But her manners betrayed a hesitant quality, an uncertainty which had not been there before. Elizabeth could not imagine her aunt would suddenly become a loving, happy woman due to nothing more than Elizabeth’s admonishments, but she hoped that at least she might be less eager to criticize.
Of her aunt’s assertions Elizabeth was not able to gain any true perspective. At the very least, she thought Aunt Drummond believed what she said to be the literal truth. But Elizabeth had long known that truth and perception are sometimes strangers, and in this instance, she thought there must be more to the story; Aunt Drummond’s words concerning a suitor choosing to throw her over because of whom her brother married did not sound right. It was possible—perhaps even probable—had the Bennets been higher in society, but lower level families were usually much less concerned about rank, especially when the undesirable relation would be nothing more than a sister-in-law.
As for her mother, Elizabeth was forced to own that most of what Mrs. Drummond said was true, though not to the degree she had asserted. The embarrassment of being the daughter to Maggie Bennet when she spoke without thinking or brazenly put her daughters forward to any single man had told Elizabeth many years ago that her mother’s manners were not fashionable. But Elizabeth’s opinion of her mother was also correct—she loved her daughters and wanted the best for them, and though Elizabeth could not agree with her idea of what was best, she had never been in doubt of her mother’s love.