Into Hertfordshire

by Stanley Michael Hurd

  Chapter Twenty

  After having seated Elizabeth, Darcy had barely time to draw breath before Miss Bingley approached, a malicious and triumphant smile playing about her lips. Linking her arm firmly through his, she said, “Here you are! And so, Mr. Darcy, I see you have finally been so overcome with ennui as to make the leap into Hertfordshire society; so good of you—and even before you had had opportunity to dance with your hostess! I am certain the good people of Hertfordshire were highly gratified to see it, as was I! As you are my guest, I can wish nothing more than that you should enjoy yourself.” Darcy looked down at her rather dejectedly, but made no reply; he had not the strength of will at the moment to engage Miss Bingley in repartée. The lady continued: “And were you well pleased with Miss Elizabeth Bennet as a partner? You seemed very quiet in the last dance, I must say. But perhaps you did not care for the conversation? I can sympathise with you, there; I have just been talking with her sister, who wished to hear every thing she could concerning a certain lieutenant under Colonel Forster; Miss Eliza apparently has a great interest in that quarter.”

  Darcy, however, was already well aware of that fact, which robbed Miss Bingley of much of her intended effect. She made one or two more attempts to draw him into speech, until, failing to arouse either his curiosity or his ire, she released him and went in search of Elizabeth, as she very much wanted some one whom she might regale to greater effect. Darcy watched her rather dismally as she left him, his emotions in turmoil—charged with frustration, regret, and disgust. His crusade against Wickham had failed; his hopes for the evening were ruined—at least as far as Elizabeth was concerned; he now had a new worry: Bingley and Miss Bennet; and, to make the evening complete, all his warm hopes, and his best efforts to bring them off, had merely given Miss Bingley a new source of ammunition for her ill-natured teazing. He gave one more look across the room at Elizabeth, fleetingly remembering her hand in his: she would have to do the best she could with Wickham; at least she could not be the object of a serious campaign, he tried to assure himself, as her father’s fortune was wholly insufficient to Wickham’s needs; and her own goodness and sense would protect her from any attempts at a harmful dalliance, regardless of Wickham’s charms. After all, she was not a naïve and open-hearted girl of fifteen, but a clear-sighted young woman who would certainly know how to avoid an imprudent entanglement. With this attempt at reassurance he would have to be satisfied—he could see nothing more that could be done at the moment. He straightened his shoulders and, forcing aside the distraction of his mind, turned his attention to his friend. What was Bingley about, that his affairs were become a matter of open discussion?

  “Mr. Darcy?”—a man’s voice came just then from his side. Turning, he was surprised to find himself being addressed by that same parson who had so publicly and thoroughly embarrassed Elizabeth during the opening set. He looked first back to Bingley, then reluctantly looked down at this fellow, rather desperately trying to keep his mind clear of the torrent of events that kept thrusting themselves upon his attention.

  “Mr. Darcy,” the parson repeated with a deep and affected bow, “My name, Sir, is William Collins, and I must apologise most humbly for not having made myself known to you before now—but I have only this moment become aware of the fact that you are related to my most noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” Here the man stopped, as though waiting for a reply. Darcy could do nothing but stare at this walking affront to propriety: first he accosts a gentleman unknown to him, then he throws about the name and station of a lady so far above him as to render it an impertinence to claim any knowledge of her. Undeterred by Darcy’s silence, the clergyman went on: “I can assure you, Sir, that your esteemed aunt was in perfect health yesterday se’nnight.”

  Darcy had heard that his Aunt Catherine had acquired a new parson, and this man appeared to be just the sort of sycophantic fool she would add to her menagerie. Much was explained, though nothing excused. “I thank you for the information,” he replied in a cool and dismissive tone; his eyes again sought Bingley and Miss Bennet.

  The man refused to take the hint, however, and continued, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh has but lately condescended, with greatest affability, to give me the living in her gift at Hunsford. She has kindly given me leave to come into Hertfordshire to visit the worthy Mr. Bennet—and his fair daughters.” At the latter portion of this speech the man gave a knowing smirk, as one who would say, “You take my meaning, I’m sure.” Darcy, who had reluctantly looked back at him during this speech, at first felt defiled by this too-personal communication, then was thunderstruck by the memory of this fellow’s look as he took Elizabeth to the dance floor. He had danced the first two dances with her! Darcy realised with horror that this extraordinarily offensive clergyman had set his sights on Elizabeth! Convinced that the world had gone mad, and that Fate had declared him its plaything, he dared not ask what further evils this evening might hold.

  Disgusted with the man—his odd manner, his boorish behaviour to Elizabeth, his effrontery in introducing himself and in sharing a confidence which Darcy would now give a great deal to be ignorant of—he replied with a voice as cold as humanly possible, “I am certain my aunt would never bestow a favour without reason.” He did not add, “I imagine she was only too happy to see your back.”

  Making the mental gesture of shaking off a clinging besmirchment on his person, he turned brusquely away from this odious individual. He walked once about the room to clear his thoughts. Miss Bingley found him during his circuit, and greeted him with a smile of even greater malice than the one before: “I see you have met Miss Eliza Bennet’s cousin—so pleasant to meet one’s future in-laws, is not it? And a parson, too; perhaps he might perform the ceremony! How delightful that would be!”

  Darcy looked down at her in shock. “I beg your pardon,” he replied rather blankly, “I am not sure I take your meaning.”

  “Why, only that the Reverend Mr. Collins is Miss Eliza’s cousin,” replied Miss Bingley with a great show of innocence. “Did not you know?”

  The clergyman, another relation! Darcy, with a bemusement which left him nearly unable to make sense of his own thoughts, had not the energy to repel Miss Bingley’s attack; ceding her victory to her, he withdrew, saying only, “You must not ignore your other guests, Miss Bingley—do not let me keep you.” He could not fail to observe the hard satisfaction that glittered in her eyes as he made a brief bow and turned away.

  Appalled and reeling from this latest revelation, he recalled that he had only just been wondering what further unpleasantness might await him, and surrendered himself to the irony of receiving such immediate return for having challenged an angry Fate.

  His thoughts disordered by too many discoveries coming too quickly together, he roamed vaguely through a number of rooms without attending, deaf to the gaiety around him, until he came upon Bingley and Miss Bennet holding a quiet conversation in a corner of the drawing-room; this brought him back to a sense of purpose, and he determinedly turned his attentions towards his friend. He did so with relief: here, at least, was a problem that was not so directly and pressingly his own; one that he might pursue with a clear mind. A quarter-hour later, however, he could not feel such happy detachment: the degree of attention Bingley devoted to the lady must give pause to all his friends. He had seen Bingley partial to a lady before, but the present case went well beyond any he had observed in the past: so far as Darcy was able to see, Bingley was utterly unaware that he was at a ball, or that he was the host at that ball, or, indeed, that there was any one else about, aside from Miss Bennet. On the lady’s side there appeared to be less consuming interest; she smiled pleasantly, as she always did, and certainly Bingley held her attention, but there was a persevering complacency to her air that argued against any great attachment, or, indeed, any great depth of feeling at all.

  Having made this observation, Darcy became cautious. He must not rush to judgement on so delicate a matter. If, as he feared, Bingley were
to be greatly attached to Miss Bennet, he, Darcy, must be very sure of the lady’s regard before venturing to influence his friend. Knowing as he did that his prejudice against the match must colour his judgement, the happiness of his friend, as well as that of the lady, must be protected from injury by an unwarranted officiousness on his part. He therefore bent his powers of observation upon the couple, most seriously endeavouring to gauge the degree of attachment the lady felt for his friend.

  There certainly was no want of matter for study, for they almost never parted company. Darcy watched them for at least three quarters of an hour, during which time they engaged in a set of dancing, consumed two cups of punch each (chivalrously fetched by Bingley’s hand), and largely ignored six more people who sought to speak with them. The only times, in fact, when others might gain any recognition at all were during those moments when Bingley absented himself from her in search of refreshments; he then became again the host and master of the evening, and she indulged in conversations with her sisters.

  Supper soon being served, Darcy followed them into the dining-room and found a seat affording a good view of the couple. Shortly, however, Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by Lady Lucas, sat down directly opposite him. He resigned himself to the aggravation that must arise from her company, however, consoling himself with the thought that whatever vexations he endured would be in the service of his friend. Elizabeth followed her mother shortly after and sat on the other side of Lady Lucas, two down from him. Having her near gave him no gratification, however; he had given over any hope in that direction for the evening—Wickham had quite effectively blocked any expectations he might have had for pleasure in that quarter, and, in any event, the question of Bingley’s and Miss Bennet’s attachment was now become the more grave and weighty matter. He did look Elizabeth’s way often enough, but the remnants of that frustration which had ended their dance guarded him from serious thought with regard to her.

  While occupied in observing his friend, he could not but overhear Mrs. Bennet’s long-winded raptures over the anticipated union, as she, too, dragged his friend’s private affairs into public view, describing in glowing and highly audible terms her happiness at the prospect of having Bingley as a son. Her elation was expressed in a loud whisper, which was hardly less than a shout, as she worked to be heard above the clatter of cutlery and the din of scores of conversations. That she was delighted by the possibility was obvious; that she felt all the advantages of the match, revelled in them and gloated over them, was equally obvious. She spoke of Bingley’s income with an interest that was only just short of avarice, contemplated the benefits to her younger daughters of moving in circles where they might meet and marry other rich men, and congratulated herself on the nearness of Netherfield to Longbourn. When she declared that the Bingley sisters must desire the connection as much as she did herself, Darcy’s expression of amazement and disbelief might have been apparent to his neighbours; how she could remain insensible of Miss Bingley’s open disdain for almost the entirety of the Bennet family was beyond comprehension. Indeed, Darcy’s contempt and incredulity at the whole of this public display could scarcely be contained, so irritating it was to feelings already fraught with frustration; he did, however, earnestly endeavour to set his jaw and let it pass. But, as her panegyric on the nuptials of her daughter and his friend became more and more animated, and more and more lengthy, his disdain overcame his breeding and he allowed his face to reflect his displeasure without disguise.

  Poor Elizabeth expostulated repeatedly with her mother, trying to restrain her volubility and, more especially, her volume; but in vain. At one point during such an attempt, Darcy distinguished his own name amongst the hushed syllables of Elizabeth’s entreaty. Her mother, with all her usual want of tact, replied aloud: “What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.” While it was hardly possible for Darcy to abominate Mrs. Bennet’s manners more than he already did, he almost admired her genius for making herself offensive.

  At this direct affront, however, Darcy underwent a sudden shift in disposition; his contempt and disgust changed over to a resolute solemnity of purpose. He had a job of work to do, and an important one: regardless of any other consideration, he must determine whether he was to influence his friend and dissuade him from his pursuit of Miss Bennet. That was the long and short of it. From that point forward did he most strenuously undertake to shut out Mrs. Bennet’s effusions: at any rate there could be little left to hear that he had not heard already, and he was certain, with absolute conviction, that she would not be able to best her present mark for ill-bred incivility. There was now before him only the question of being certain of Miss Bennet’s relative indifference—or its opposite, her sincere attachment—to his friend.

  He continued to observe her most carefully as the couple engaged in conversation; her steady serenity of countenance, whether she spoke with Bingley or with her neighbours, never varied. Having been exposed to the habits of display of innumerable courting couples in the course of nine Seasons in London, he was well aware of the signs to look for, but, try as he might, he could discern no such demonstration of esteem on Miss Bennet’s side; she did not reach out to touch Bingley’s arm as they laughed, her eyes were always kept demurely away from his; even when Bingley faced away from her, Darcy could distinguish no warm glances at him that would bespeak attachment. There was never a moment in which Miss Bennet crossed the bounds of absolute propriety—she might have been at a church bazaar rather than a ball; nor did he ever see any change in her manner when she would turn to one of her neighbours at table, demonstrating that her behaviour to Bingley was in no way different from her behaviour to them. He watched them throughout supper, confirming his observations again and again, until at length he became wholly convinced that Miss Bennet simply could not share Bingley’s attachment. To the very best of his ability, he could not see that Miss Bennet distinguished his friend in any way as being more than a pleasant dinner companion. On reaching this conviction, however, his thoughts became even more grave as he considered what must be his course of action. He realised exactly how much this decision must affect his friend’s happiness, and the idea of shattering Bingley’s hopes tore at Darcy’s heart; but, he felt, the head must rule—the heart could not be trusted, certainly not on such a momentous and anxious case as this. He must not let his own disinclination to be the bearer of bad news, dissuade him from protecting his friend’s future.

  The rest of the evening was largely lost to him, so far as any rewards the social event might offer. As his thoughts were largely consumed by his concerns for his friend, he could do no more than send a regretful glance in Elizabeth’s direction from time to time. He did not forget his wishes and intentions where she was concerned, but the unmistakable and immediate danger represented by his friend’s attachment held a far more urgent claim on his attention. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the Bennet girl who so loved to exhibit sang an Italian piece, in a weak and reedy voice and an accent that rendered it almost unintelligible, then launched into a second almost before the notably limited applause had ended; he also noticed that her father went so far as to stop her from singing a third, which only served to bring the girl’s poor performance to greater attention; nor was he unaware that the odd and odious Mr. Collins continued to make himself an object before the entire party—but these things could gain purchase only on the edges of his mind. His disquiet where the Bennet family was concerned was now centred on the eldest Miss Bennet—the rest would have to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After an uncomfortable night, Darcy awoke very unsettled in his thinking; his mind was still clouded and jumbled by that tangle of events and people, which last evening had left him so nearly distracted. Nothing had gone as it should, and now, in hindsight, the one thing he had been grateful for, Wickham’s absence, seemed less a blessing; he might at least have faced him d
own in front of Elizabeth and settled the matter of his lies. But his thoughts eventually arriving at the issue on which he had ended the evening, he recalled his decision, made in the late watches of the night, to deal with Bingley before he left for London: he had an evening appointment there of some importance, and was to leave this morning in order to be in good time.

  Casting off the bedclothes he got himself upright with energy; Bingley had intended to leave as soon as he awoke. Ringing the bell for Perkins, he poured water into the ewer and hurriedly washed his face. Barely noticing the chill, he ran a hasty hand through his hair and emerged from his bedchamber just as his man entered. Perkins looked at his master quickly, then set about selecting the day’s clothing without comment.