Fair Stands the Wind

by Catherine Lodge

  Below in the water meadows, she could see a group of men on horseback approaching, the tall upright figure of Captain Darcy in front. He rode rather well for a sailor, but surely, two accompanying grooms was a little excessive. She remembered reading somewhere that a ship’s captain was treated as an absolute monarch aboard his ship; obviously, the gentleman liked a certain state. The three horsemen galloped past, but while the two grooms touched their hats, the rider in front made no acknowledgement. Bolt upright, green spectacles flashing in the sunlight, he towered over her and was gone.

  She dropped a mocking curtsey to his retreating back and continued her walk, the daydream dispelled by a sudden excess of reality. She set her mind to the more immediate problem: Mr. Bingley. He was by far the most promising candidate to present himself. How to contrive further meetings? Her poor father could not be expected to call, and since he was known to be unwell, it was doubtful the Netherfield party would call on him. Moreover, it was unlikely that the ladies at Netherfield would be eager to extend their acquaintance in the country, having appeared quite determinedly above their company.

  Somehow, Elizabeth decided, she would have to contrive to call. If it had been a case of calling on any other neighbour, she would simply have walked. Lizzy Bennet’s strange habit of perambulating about the countryside was too well known now to attract any attention locally. However, it would never do to appear eccentric or unmindful of the proprieties in such an important case, so she resolved to approach Mr. Lester for the loan of a pair of horses. Their carriage was old-fashioned but in good condition, and if she could but arrange to leave her mother behind, an afternoon call would be an excellent start to what, she hoped, would soon become a closer acquaintance.

  Unfortunately, wishing for her mother’s absence was much easier than securing it. Mrs. Bennet seized upon the idea of a call with all her usual intemperate enthusiasm. She would call with Jane, and Lydia could come too, “for we cannot as yet be sure that he has finally decided, and Lydia is such a lively young girl.” Elizabeth and the other girls could go call upon their Aunt Phillips and gather the local news instead, “for your father is resting and must not be disturbed.”

  Mrs. Phillips was, as usual, pregnant with news, her maid Sukey being a particular friend of Mrs. Needham, the housekeeper at Netherfield. Mr. Bingley had bought supplies for at least another two months; his sisters were demanding, disobliging sorts of women; Mr. Hurst was drunk every night as soon as the ladies retired from dinner; and Captain Darcy’s valet, Mr. Starkey, was a real live sailor with a wooden leg and a pigtail and everything.

  If this were not enough excitement, Mr. Bingley himself arrived to visit Mr. Phillips, and he was brought in to take tea with the ladies. He proved himself just as pleasant and conversable as he had been the previous evening. The men were the pleasantest group of fellows he had ever met, the ladies the kindest and prettiest. He was devastated to learn he had missed Mrs. Bennet and would make sure his sisters returned the call as soon as ever they could so he could accompany them. So much good humour was not perhaps evidence of a penetrating intelligence, but there was no folly to weary or ill manners to disgust, and really, he would be the perfect match for Jane—or for Jane as she had been before they had all been obliged to learn the sterner truths of their situation. Elizabeth wondered whether the new Jane would find this unwearying good humour irksome but then chided herself. If any of them had nothing worse to worry about in a husband than that, they would be obliged to give thanks on their knees.

  Mrs. Phillips’s house was a general resort for the young people of the town for, as she herself expressed it, “I do so like to have a cheery group of people around me.”

  Elizabeth was exchanging pleasantries with young Mr. Catteral when Mr. Bingley came up to speak to them, asking about pleasant walks and rides in the area. “I am afraid neither of my sisters is a great one for spending time out of doors, but Darcy and I are hoping to ride out and see something of the countryside. I have been asking your uncle, Miss Bennet, about hiring a steward who knows the area to show me my business, for I know I shall have to get to know the land and the tenants too.”

  Seizing her opportunity with both hands, Elizabeth pretended to consider while Jack Catteral chattered away about coveys and good runs with the local hunt. When he had wound down, she said, “It is a pity my father has not been able to call at Netherfield. You have probably heard that he is rather unwell.” Mr. Bingley bowed. “For he has a set of particularly fine maps of the area that he had made by a surveyor from Town, an old friend of my Uncle Gardiner, which I am sure you would find most helpful.”

  Mr. Bingley was all interest. “I would not disturb Mr. Bennet for the world, but if your mother would not mind receiving Darcy and me, a look at those maps would be most helpful.”

  “Captain Darcy?” Elizabeth was rather startled.

  “Oh goodness me, yes, I am no hand at all with a map. But Darcy, well, Darcy reads ’em like I read a book. Told me once he did some surveying himself as a boy, naval surveying, rocks and shoals and such, but I dare say it is all the same sort of thing.” He grinned unselfconsciously. “They tried to beat mensuration into me at school. No use at all. Gave up on me in the end. So, Miss Bennet, if Darcy is well enough, poor fellow, I shall do myself the honour of calling at Longbourn tomorrow.” With that, he bowed to the company and took his leave of Mrs. Phillips.

  As Elizabeth watched him go, she wondered whether Captain Darcy was often unwell. Old Mr. Catteral was often “unwell” too, and she wondered whether it were the same malady: too much Port. Then suddenly she realised just how very uncharitable she was being. The poor man had served his country with distinction and no doubt hoped to do so again. A wound or illness contracted at sea was far more likely to be the cause of his absence. It would not do; it really would not do. She was allowing her own situation to cloud her judgement of her fellow man. Merely because people in Meryton were beginning to fight shy of their acquaintance—for fear of appeals for assistance when the worst occurred—was no excuse for ascribing the worst of motives and reasons to other people’s actions, and to a stranger’s at that.

  The luck of the meeting with Mr. Bingley was all that made the evening supportable. Mrs. Bennet was bemoaning her misfortune at having missed him and complaining that Jane had wasted her blue muslin on his sisters, grand ladies who gave themselves airs for all the world as though their grandfather had not been a weaver and their father a dealer in wool and worsted. “Though that is the way of the world, and very unchristian it is too, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, “for my girls are much better born, and yet they do not have £20,000 apiece.” She fell to speculating what they would do if they had, a train of thought that Elizabeth believed would soon reveal how quickly that sum would be spent. “And as for that Captain Darcy! We saw him being carried upstairs to his room by his grooms just like Mr. Catteral, and it not three-thirty in the afternoon. Though it is all the same with these sailors, drinking and”—she remembered to whom she was talking and ended with a rather weak—“and such like.”

  The news that Mr. Bingley was probably to visit on the morrow sent her into fits of nerves and a flurry of orders. “Hill! Hill! We must be sure the library is swept and dusted, and Mr. Hill must go into town and fetch some of the good coffee. Jane, you must wear your blue muslin again, for it is particularly becoming, and his sisters will not be here to know you have worn it before.”

  When Mr. Bingley, accompanied by Captain Darcy, rode up the following day, the Bennet ladies were all in the large parlour, ostentatiously engaged in suitable womanly pursuits: sewing, netting, drawing, and such while listening to Mary read from Fordyce’s Sermons, activities they were all only too glad to lay aside to greet the visitors.

  Civil enquiries were exchanged about Mr. Bennet’s health. Mr. Bingley was effusive but not ridiculously so, and Captain Darcy contented himself with a bow and a brief wish for Mr. B
ennet’s better health. It was not that he was curt, nor that he was haughty or ill mannered, more that he seemed ill at ease. Coffee was drunk and conversation had, mostly carried on by Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Bennet with occasional interjections from Jane, the younger girls having been firmly warned against interrupting any conversation Mr. Bingley might have with their eldest sister.

  Eventually, the inspection of the maps could be postponed no longer. The library was too small to admit more than a few people, and since Jane and Mr. Bingley must be kept together, Elizabeth had been previously detailed to accompany her sister and the gentlemen, largely because Mrs. Bennet was obliged to admit that Elizabeth was the only one who would understand them. “And do not go showing away and making Mr. Bingley look foolish, for there is nothing gentlemen dislike more than clever women.”

  Mr. Hill unrolled the maps on the library table, and they leaned over to inspect them. With a muttered apology, Captain Darcy turned them until they were aligned north to south and then addressed himself to Mr. Bingley, pointing out where various landmarks lay in relation to Netherfield. Jane did her best to be interested and conversational, pointing out the bluebell dell and the parts of the river where the best fishing was to be had. “For my father particularly asked me to invite you to fish there if you are of a mind.”

  Captain Darcy, however, was staring at the map, his expression faintly dubious. Eventually he tapped one corner and asked, “Are you quite sure about this section here? For I rode down there yesterday, and the stand of trees and the hill were not quite as they are shown here.”

  This was something Elizabeth could answer, and even her mother could not object. “You are quite right, Captain,” she said. “There was a small landslip during heavy rains in the year eight. Several fine trees and part of the hill had to be carted away to keep the road to Hatfield open. I have often wished I could amend the map, but alas, without the correct measurements, I have no doubt but that I should make the error worse. My father only keeps an eleven-yard chain, and I have never been able to find a trustworthy confederate who is prepared to stand around in the mud and help me with it.” She looked up laughingly to see the captain’s expression change from one of intelligent interest to something she could not identify: disapproval perhaps, or even ennui, for he no longer met her gaze and seemed more interested in the wallpaper. She shrugged mentally and was about to address a remark to Mr. Bingley when the captain spoke, his voice peremptory. “Come, Bingley, we have trespassed upon the ladies’ hospitality long enough. It is time we were leaving.”

  Jane and Elizabeth protested, but Mr. Bingley turned to go obediently. As they walked into the hall, they heard running feet and turned to see the housekeeper. “Oh, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, your mother says you must come at once. Mr. Bennet has taken a turn.”

  It was not the worst, but it so easily could have been. The heartbreaking cough that convulsed his entire frame seemed to take an age to respond to Doctor Wallace’s medicine, and it was very late before Mr. Bennet sank into an uneasy doze.

  The whole house slept uneasily that night, and the next day Mr. Bennet sent for Elizabeth. He was sitting up on his usual chaise longue, his legs covered with a blanket. As she bent over to kiss his forehead, she noticed a letter in his hand.

  After the usual enquiries and the usual falsely cheerful response, he handed her the letter. “I wrote to my heir, Mr. Collins, last week,” he said. “This is his reply.”

  It was a strange letter and one that left Elizabeth feeling more than somewhat uneasy. “What can he mean by apologising for the entail?” she said. “And what is this about making amends?”

  Mr. Bennet stifled another cough. “He is not, it seems, a sensible man. However, I believe he may be coming here, at least in part, to seek a wife from amongst my daughters.” He laid a hand on hers. “I deeply regret this, dearest, but unless he is the merest brute, it might well be for the best if one of you were to accept him.”

  “Oh, sir, surely it cannot be so very urgent?”

  Her father shook his head. “Who can say? I may have months before me or merely days. However, as I have criminally done so little to provide for your mother and sisters, it seems that the burden will fall upon you.” He sighed, which set him coughing again, and it was not until he had control of his breathing once more that he continued, “We both know that the younger girls will not do, and Jane has not the strength of mind to manage a foolish husband. It is not what I wanted for you, dear girl, and I know you will find it almost intolerably difficult to do, but unless some other prospect for you or Jane arises, I do not see that there is any choice—not if I am to leave you all without fearing for your very existence.” He dropped his gaze but not before Elizabeth saw the tears in his eyes. “I am so very sorry, Lizzy. You all, but you and Jane in particular, deserve better.”

  Elizabeth took one of his hands in hers. How pale and thin it had become! “Do not be afraid. If I can provide for my mother and sisters by marrying this man, I shall. Who knows, he may be better than his letter promises. He would not be the first gentleman who failed to make the best of himself in correspondence.” Mr. Bennet could not speak and had to content himself with patting her hand gently. She sat with him until he fell asleep.

  There was no point in mentioning any of this to her mother or sisters, not until it should prove absolutely necessary. In the meantime, there was the annual invitation to dinner to celebrate the anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Goulding’s marriage, and since Mr. Bingley and his party were expected to be there, it was vital that Jane appear her best. Having “used up” the blue muslin, she must bring out the pink silk their Aunt Gardiner had sent from London, saved for just such a formal occasion and extremely becoming.

  However, even the simple business of obtaining new ribbons to set off the dress and Jane to perfection brought an unwelcome reminder of their situation. Mrs. Finch the dressmaker hummed and hawed but ended by asking to be paid in cash rather than sending in her bill at the end of the month. Lydia was shrilly indignant as the sisters rummaged through their reticules for pennies and sixpences, but Elizabeth was more sympathetic, realising the woman was afraid that, if Mr. Bennet died, outstanding accounts would be delayed or perhaps not paid at all—a major blow to a widow in such a small way of business.

  Luckily, Lydia and Kitty were swept up into preparations the moment they returned to Longbourn, and Elizabeth had the melancholy satisfaction of hiding from Jane that she had spent the last of her own pin money buying the ribbons. They had both been trying to exercise the strictest economy, but even so, both had managed to save little more than half the cost of the mourning clothes they might be obliged to wear all too soon.

  Dinner at the Gouldings’ the following day served to brighten all their spirits. Jane looked beautiful, and Mr. Bingley was obviously, but never offensively, attentive. Miss Bingley and the Hursts also came and distinguished themselves by ill manners, haughtiness and, in Mr. Hurst’s case, excessive attention to Mr. Goulding’s excellent Port.

  Elizabeth found herself beside Miss Bingley after the ladies retired and, for want of any suitable subject of conversation, asked after the whereabouts of Captain Darcy, who was absent although she knew he had been invited.

  Miss Bingley coloured, looked conscious, and then said, “He is visiting his brother in Derbyshire. The captain is one of the Darcys of Pemberley in Derbyshire, you know.”

  Having no idea what this portentous announcement signified, Elizabeth merely bowed and started a conversation on the state of the roads, the number of footpads said to be abroad, and the weather. Miss Bingley seemed disinclined to bear her share of the conversation and eventually drifted off to speak to her sister.

  Left at a loose end, Elizabeth wandered into Mr. Goulding’s library, where she knew there would be a county gazetteer, and looked up Pemberley. To her surprise, she found it was close to the small town of Lambton, where her Aunt Gardi
ner had spent much of her early life. She read the details of the impressive house and estate. The current owner, George Arthur Darcy, must be the brother Miss Bingley had mentioned.

  She heard the unmistakeable sound of Mary playing the piano in the drawing room and returned to find the company joined in an energetic jig. Young Mr. Goulding had obviously forestalled any other invitation for Jane, for the two of them were now crossing hands at the top of the set. Mrs. Bennet was scowling in a corner but Elizabeth fancied it would do no harm for Mr. Bingley to realise he was not the only gentleman with eyes for Jane.

  As she sat beside her mother, Elizabeth found her thoughts turning to her father’s heir, Mr. Collins. His letter had been notably ill-written, combining sycophancy with an imperfectly hidden and most improper eagerness to take up possession. Mrs. Bennet was complaining about something, but Elizabeth could hardly hear her, her mind insisting upon repeating some of the more infelicitous phrases from Mr. Collins’s letter over and over again. This was the man her father thought she must marry, and what little she knew of him was no inducement to respect—still less to the more tender feelings she had always hoped to offer her husband.

  Chapter Three

  If the Gouldings’ dinner had not settled the matter to Mrs. Bennet’s satisfaction, a letter came three days later that quickly convinced her that their troubles were over. Miss Bingley wrote to invite Jane for luncheon and tea. Contriving to the height of her powers, Mrs. Bennet arranged for Jane to go on horseback, confident that the weather would break and strand her daughter in the same house as Mr. Bingley.

  Sure enough, Jane had been gone less than an hour when the heavens opened in a brief but drenching rain shower. Some time later, a letter was brought announcing that Jane had been caught in it and was now unwell. “People do not die of trifling colds,” said Mrs. Bennet confidently, only to recollect and add, “Young people, at any rate.” She called for the housekeeper. “Hill! Hill! We must send over Miss Elizabeth’s new nightgown and slippers, for they are much nicer than Miss Jane’s, and it would not do for the house to think us all paupers.” She paused as though waiting for Elizabeth to object to this summary appropriation of her birthday present, but when no objection came, she continued to Elizabeth’s horror, “Perhaps, Mr. Bingley will visit her—now, it is no use you looking like that, Lizzy. You do not know what gentlemen are, and if he can only be induced to compromise her, we shall all be safe.”