by michael sand
“You do not then consider a circulating library ‘an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge?’”
“By no means,” Elizabeth replied, speaking desperately, and almost at random. “I am sure I should have been no less idle and wicked a girl, had I never learned to read.”
The ladies’ destination being revealed as their aunt’s house, the gentlemen (or rather, Mr Bingley) begged to be allowed to escort them thither. Assent was readily given. But as they began to move, Mr Darcy — to Elizabeth’s surprise and mortification — offered his arm to Jane, while Mr Bingley was left to her own share. She thought that Bingley would have chosen a different division, had the power of election been left to him, and she wondered which of two purposes might have been uppermost in Mr Darcy’s mind, — to preserve his friend from any shew of particularity towards Jane, or avoid a tête-à-tête with herself. However, the thing was done. She could only wonder whether she felt more chagrin or relief at her escape, and seek what consolation she might in Mr Bingley’s society. Certainly, he was the more conversable man; with him it was easy to engage in discourse; with him every subject was not a source of danger.
“Your sister looks in health,” Bingley began. He had been afraid, when her party had had to leave Derbyshire so suddenly, that there might have been some illness in the family; — was rejoiced to know it was not so. Then, seeming to fear appearing inquisitive,— “But do forgive me for rattling on in this manner, Miss Bennet. I often talk so quick, that I have no idea what I am going to say till I hear myself speak.”
All this was said with an amiability and simplicity irresistible. Elizabeth was pleased that Bingley appeared to know nothing of the circumstances which had obliged them to leave Derbyshire; but of course, Mr Darcy would not be revealing on that subject. “How are Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley?” she said. “Have you heard from them recently?“
“Not since our arrival. My sisters are both great letter-writers, to be sure, but they see no reason to put themselves out for an object so inconsequential as a mere brother. They know that the items of news on which they most desire intelligence, are just such as I am least likely to take notice of, and that I shall be unable to tell them anything to the purpose about what young ladies are wearing in Hertfordshire.”
“And could not you, as a solicitous brother, inform yourself on these interesting subjects? Surely it is no more beyond the power of the masculine mind to differentiate between long sleeves and short, than it is for the female mind to pretend an interest in the number of coveys gentlemen stalk in a day’s shooting.”
Mr Bingley agreed, with a laugh, that he had signally failed in his fraternal obligations; but he was so much in the habit of obedience to his sisters, that he had lost all power of initiative. “You can know nothing of what a youngest child may suffer in the way of domineering. I do not think your elder sister enforced a life of subservience upon you.”
Elizabeth acknowledged that she had been singularly wise in her choice of an elder sister; and believing that Mr Bingley had made an opening on what might be a favourite subject, trusted that she could gratify his wishes by pronouncing at length on the manifold excellences of Jane, who had acted a most loving guardian to herself as a child, (though but two years older,) and had been her dearest friend from the earliest time of which she retained memory. But while Elizabeth’s tongue was busy praising Jane, her mind was even busier wondering whether Bingley’s visit might indicate that his subservience to his sisters, (which had contributed to his previous separation from Jane,) might be sinking, and that he was less under their thumb than heretofore. A backward glance shewed that Jane and Mr Darcy were deep in conversation; but Elizabeth could near nothing of what they were saying, and Mr Bingley obliged her attention with a stream of amiable chat.
Tea was carrying round when they arrived at Mrs Philips’s house, and much to Elizabeth’s surprise, the gentlemen accepted her aunt’s invitation to drink it with them. When the newcomers had received the greetings of the company, Mr Darcy walked away to stand by the fireplace. Mrs Philips ringing the bell just then for more hot water, Mr Bingley was left on his own to survey the room. Jane was seated on the sopha, and looked up at that moment. Mr Bingley smiled, she smiled back, and he moved to sit down beside her. Mr Darcy was also at liberty, and seemed about to remove in her direction; but her Uncle Philips claimed his attention at that moment, and began prosing in a way which Elizabeth knew would not soon be concluded. Mr Darcy’s face became suffused with ennui under this recital, but he made no move to free himself.
It was not till they were walking home, that Elizabeth had an opportunity to learn from Jane how she and Mr Darcy had passed their time together. “Mr Bingley and I spoke only of you, and I heaped praise upon your head; so in simple justice, you ought to have been plying the same kind office on my account with Mr Darcy.”
“I fear I have failed you,” Miss Bennet said, with a smile (having no notion that her sister might be in earnest.) “How the subject started, I cannot say, but we spoke almost entirely of Mr Bingley. I believe Mr Darcy began it by proclaiming himself an authority on Bingley’s character, from having known him so long, and their having met as schoolboys when Bingley was only ten. I own, I could not help smiling at the thought of what Mr Bingley might have been like at that age.”
“And did Mr Darcy satisfy your curiosity?” Elizabeth asked, greatly wondering that he should seem to be inviting Jane’s interest in his friend.
“Yes. He said that Mr Bingley was very much as he is now, — except for having no need of a razor.”
The surprise Elizabeth then felt on discovering that Darcy could speak with such ease to her sister, was only equalled by her mortification that he should never have spoken so to herself.
“It seems that Mr Darcy’s being three years the senior, put him in a position of authority over Bingley,” Jane went on. (“A position,” Elizabeth added to herself, “he has never subsequently relinquished.”) — “He told me that Bingley had been his fag; and when I said, I did not know what that meant, he explained that it is the custom for the younger boys to serve their seniors; till, rising through the school, they are waited on in their turn, by those still younger than themselves.”
“This must do a great deal to promote brotherly affection between the generations, as they pass from the state of slave to that of master.”
“That is just what Mr Darcy said. The boys were all divided into two groups, he said, bullies and toadies, and I might probably guess which group he fell into.”
Elizabeth could scarcely credit her ears. — That Mr Darcy, of all men, should make such a joke against himself!
“ — But Mr Bingley was an exception. He neither fawned nor bullied, Mr Darcy said, and was as good-natured a child as he is a man.”
“Hum!” said Elizabeth. “If we are to credit Mr Darcy, his school fellows must have been a rude and graceless lot. Well, this shews Mr Bingley in a most amiable light, — and Mr Darcy scarcely less so. Mr Bingley can certainly count on his commendation, should he ever need a witness as to character. But then Mr Darcy is a friend, and a court might consider him partial.”
“Yes,” Jane replied, quietly. “Mr Darcy is an old friend. But I think he is speaking from knowledge, rather than prejudice. I do not think he exaggerates.”
Elizabeth agreed that Bingley’s good nature spread a perfume of complacency amongst every one fortunate enough to know him; but she was left to ponder, as she made the rest of her way home, why Mr Darcy should have been speaking of him to Jane in this way. Was it possible that he had taken to heart her reproof, delivered that day at Hunsford, and was endeavouring to undo the harm he had done in separating his friend from the woman he loved? It might then follow, that he had come to Netherfield solely on Bingley’s behalf — that his coming had nothing to do with her. If so, she was prepared to be happy for Jane; but she could not help feeling wretchedly wounded in her own hopes.
Chapter Two
The gentlemen were engaged
to Longbourn early the next day to shoot with Mr Bennet. When they had returned from their sport, a large party was gathered in the drawing-room. Mrs Bennet, — who, when it came to match-making, could draw up a plan of campaign as well as any general, — knew that great scope might be afforded the advancement of Jane’s cause, by their being in numbers. For this reason, a troop of Lucases, Gouldings, and Longs, had been invited, as a general might make a demonstration to cover a withdrawal, or feign a withdrawal to mask an attack. Her plans were not immediately crowned with success, for Mr Bingley, upon entering the room, went first, not to Jane, but to Elizabeth. If there was less of love in this behaviour, there was a great deal of good sense; and Elizabeth applauded him for not making a shew of particularity at a moment when every body’s eyes should be upon him. Bingley greeted her; then, with an arch look, asked, whether she could adapt her female mind — “to take, or at least, pretend an interest, in how many coveys we gentlemen stalked in our day’s shooting?”
“I believe I can pretend an interest,” she replied. “But I fear that feeling one is out of my power. I might indeed feel a great deal, were I able to participate the activity myself. As it is, I can only take so much interest, when I hear gentlemen speaking of sport, as a deaf man might take in a performance of music.”
Mr Darcy, coming in soon after Bingley, had gone to stand in his usual spot by the fireplace. Elizabeth had seen him enter, and though she continued to speak to Mr Bingley, her words were rather directed towards Mr Darcy, in the hope of inducing him to join them. Darcy seemed to be listening to their conversation, but he remained where he was, looking — so Elizabeth thought — as though he wished himself any where else. When the company repaired to the dining room, Elizabeth discovered that her mother had so contrived that Mr Darcy, not Mr Bingley, was seated on her right. Such an arrangement could be little to the taste of either party; but Mrs Bennet had sacrificed her own interests in order to leave Bingley free to take a seat by Jane. From the occasional view which Elizabeth, at the far end of the table, was able to catch of him, he appeared ill-at-ease, as well he might with Mrs Bennet on his left and Kitty on his right. She herself was placed between her father and Sir William Lucas, and felt that she might justly anticipate as little enjoyment from her dinner as Mr Darcy did from his.
After a time, there came a lull in conversation. Sir William then turning the beam of his civility upon his neighbour on the other side, Elizabeth was at liberty to ask her father how his morning sport had fared: not from any greater interest in this subject than she had admitted to Mr Bingley, but from the hope of gleaning some intelligence of Mr Darcy.
“Very pleasantly, my dear,” Mr Bennet replied, “and the pleasantest aspect was how little exertion it required on my part; for Mr Bingley did all the talking, and Mr Darcy all the shooting.”
Elizabeth did not take quite her usual relish in her father’s wit. What a pity if her family were to spoil Jane’s chances again! “Do you have any fault to find with either gentleman?” she ventured. “Mr Bingley does talk, but I do not think he is ever silly.”
“Very true. He said nothing that one wished unsaid; and if his subjects were only such as have — ‘oft been thought, and often better expressed,’ — at least there was nothing insipid about his performance. I only question what the table talk at Netherfield may be like — should a certain desirable event take place, (lowering his voice, and in a tolerable imitation of Sir William’s accents,) as your mother is plotting that it shall.” And with a nod towards where Jane and Bingley were sitting, “They are neither of them likely to apply the readiest method of adding spice to a conversation, by speaking ill of their neighbours.”
Elizabeth had but little interest in her dinner, and spent her time trying to hear what was being said at the top of the table. Her efforts were scarcely rewarded, for the only occasion she heard Mr Darcy speak, he was merely passing a civil remark over a dish of partridges. To which, Mrs Bennet replied (with what she probably imagined killing sarcasm,) “that this was praise indeed, as she was sure Mr Darcy must keep two or three French cooks at least.”
After tea, the card tables were placed, and by a farther arrangement of Mrs Bennet, the guests were divided into three sets. The whist players furnished forth two tables, one was comprised of Mr Bennet, Mrs Long, Lady Lucas, and Mr Goulding, while Mrs Bennet played with Mr Darcy against Mrs Goulding and Sir William at the other. Mrs Bennet did not scruple to reserve the best whist-player to herself; and it was possible that Mr Darcy might find her company less irksome at the card table than anywhere else, for whatever her other failings, she was a keen player. Certainly the winnings which accrued to Mrs Bennet as a result of this partnership, brought Mr Darcy into better odour with her than that gentleman ever had hitherto enjoyed.
Before sitting down to her whist, Mrs Bennet also manoeuvred for the happiness of the rest of her party. Mr Bingley having proclaimed himself no whist-player, she urged him to consult his own tastes in play. “She had heard him say that Vingt-un was a favourite game with him, and she was sure that either Mary and Jane would be willing to furnish him a partner.” This was a cunning stratagem, for Mary immediately excused herself, as Mrs Bennet knew she should. (Mary did not care for cards — she preferred to occupy herself with a book.) In this way, Mrs Bennet gained her objective while avoiding the appearance of particularity. As for the rag and bobtail of her guests, which included the young Lucases, Longs, and Gouldings, they might enjoy a good, noisy game together — let it be what they will, Speculation or Preference. And Elizabeth should assist them in whatever they might choose. Elizabeth perceived that she had been detailed to be overseer to the youth of the party, with whom she was a great favourite. By this tactic, she was at once relegated to the status of those not yet grown up, and perversely made to feel her age, as the eldest of the group. As she distributed cards and counters to a circle of eager, young gamesters, she felt that though she was unlikely ever to achieve her preference, there were certainly grounds for a great deal of speculation. Why had Mr Darcy not made his way to her, even once? Perhaps it might not have been possible for him to evade the demands of the whist table, but he had scarcely spoken to her all day — had hardly addressed her since his arrival in Hertfordshire! He had chosen not to walk with her in Meryton, and had made no effort to speak to her at her aunt’s house. He might have found it difficult to detach himself from her uncle Philips, but need he have endured her uncle’s endless coze with so little resistance? It was all speculation on the single, unknowable point, of what Mr Darcy might be thinking of her. What she might think of him, seemed to depend upon that point. — And yet, why should it be so? Could she not determine what her feelings might be, without reference to his?
The next hour passed in noisy play, under cover of which, Elizabeth might indulge in her secret thoughts without the appearance of inattention. However, though she made no effort to win, she could hardly avoid doing so, from the unbridled emulation of her youthful opponents, who were constantly ruining themselves in the contention for supremacy. One of the young Lucases — thinking himself sufficiently grown to exercise his gallantry in public — ventured to hope, “that Miss Eliza’s being so lucky at cards, did not foretell her being unlucky in love.” To which Elizabeth replied, that his wish was come too late — “For I can see, that I have been so unlucky as to lose any chance of fixing you.”
At last, by an exertion of carelessness, (aided by the real disturbance of her thoughts,) she managed to lose all her counters, and her place at the table. Perhaps some urgency was given her disengaging herself, by seeing that Mr Darcy had yielded his seat among the whist-players to Mrs Philips. She then went to sit by the pianoforte, and sat looking through the music books lying on the instrument, in the hope of being asked to sing. It would be a test. Darcy had been used to like her singing; if it drew him to her now, she might be able to judge whether he retained any of his former interest — or she her former power. Her wish was soon gratified by Kitty, who came to join her
at the instrument. “Sing these, Lizzy,” Kitty said, opening a folio of Shakespeare songs. Elizabeth took up the songbook. As she did, she saw Darcy leave his post by the whist-table, walk to the fireplace, and a moment later, walk away from it in order to take a closer station. Kitty, meanwhile, had remained to turn pages; and Elizabeth, who a moment before had been feeling infinitely obliged to her sister, now devoutly wished her gone. The vexation of her presence was materially increased, a moment later, when Kitty, seeing Darcy advance, said, in a whisper, “La, — there comes that horrid, proud man. He sat beside me all through dinner, and spoke not a word.” Elizabeth encouraged Kitty to avoid further affront by returning to her seat at the card-table — she could turn her own pages; but Kitty obstinately refused. She longed to hear Elizabeth sing, and why should she forgo her pleasure for Mr Darcy’s sake! “They wanted none of his company, did they?” Elizabeth capitulated with an inward sigh; Fortune’s wheel had never appeared more like a whirligig — now favouring her hopes, now dashing them.
She turned her attention to the volume. The first piece was ‘Blow, blow thou winter wind’, but she would not sing that. She did not wish to believe that ‘Most friendship was feigning, most loving mere folly.’ The next two, ‘Full fathom five,’ and ‘Come unto these yellow sands,’ were innocent of evil meaning, and she sang them. When she finished, she looked up, — and immediately looked down again. Mr Darcy was standing directly before her, in the curve of the instrument. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet,” he said, in his usual tone of gravity. “There is so much noise in that part of the room that it was difficult to hear. Pray do not allow me to interrupt your performance. I assure you, (smiling) I did not mean to frighten you by coming in such state.”