by J P Christy
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Had anyone been so foolish as to ask Lydia what she wanted from life, her reply would have been a rambling list of items and experiences—more petty than profound—which could be summed thusly: she wanted the privileges associated with being the eldest combined with the attention and indulgence often lavished on the baby of the family. She longed for the admiration of handsome soldiers, which Mrs. Bennet had said would guarantee a lifetime of lavish balls, beautiful dresses, and much gaiety.
Had Lydia reflected on her fears, she might have admitted her concern that, as the youngest Bennet, she would be the last to marry, although (she told herself) with Mary being Mary, such a fate was unlikely. She also resented being compared unfavorably to other young ladies—such as when she was reminded that she lacked Jane’s beauty or Elizabeth’s intelligence. Lydia consoled herself with the belief that among the officers in the local militia, she was the young lady they liked best, and in return she adored most any man who was dressed in regimentals.
Lydia tended to categorize events into four categories: a good joke, something romantic, something tragic, or—horrors!—something boring. To her, George Wickham, a handsome lieutenant with the local militia, was both romantic and tragic. Although his late godfather, a Mr. Darcy, had promised him the living at a parsonage in Derbyshire, the godfather’s jealous son had refused to honor that promise. Thus, Wickham, who had joined the local militia last fall, was reduced to a state of near poverty. Yet despite this injustice, he was never boring; instead, he made her laugh.
I wonder what Wickham is doing today? she mused. If Kitty and Mary were around, they could accompany her to Meryton, for even Lydia was not so wanting in propriety that she would walk to the village alone. Yet there, she might encounter Wickham or other handsome officers who would be free to come to dinner. Better sooner than later; when Lizzy returns, she will monopolize Wickham’s attention as she did when he arrived last year.
With much drama, Mrs. Bennet entered the parlor and collapsed into a chair. “The menus are done! No one knows what I suffer for this family.” A woman of little understanding and an uncertain temper, Mrs. Bennet tended to fancy herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; the solace of her existence was making visiting and discussing news.
“Mama, shall we not walk to Meryton? Surely a visit with Aunt Phillips would restore you. And I am very, very bored today,” Lydia added, making what she hoped was a pitiful pout.
“The maid said your sisters went to Lucas Lodge. Why did you not go with them?”
“They did not even tell me they were going.”
“Poor Lydia. How unkind of them.”
“May we walk to the village? When the militia decamps for Brighton in a few weeks, we will not have the company of charming young officers in red coats. Our lives will be very sad.”
Mrs. Bennet recalled her own infatuations at that age. When Lydia married, there would be no one at Longbourn to remind Mrs. Bennet of her days as a lovely and popular young miss. Mary will no doubt be here to take care of her father and me, but I vow sometimes that girl seems older than Mr. Bennet’s years and my years combined.
“Please, Mama ….”
“All right then. Go get your bonnet and mine, too, and we will walk to Meryton.”
Jumping up from her chair, Lydia kissed her mother’s brow before running to fetch their bonnets. This day might be tolerable after all.
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That same afternoon in Cheapside, when Elizabeth and Jane returned from taking the Gardiner children to Hatchards, the bookshop that was a family favorite, Mrs. Gardiner met them in the foyer. “Ah, good, you are back. Children, thank your cousins for the outing and go upstairs, please. Nanny will help you tidy yourselves for tea.” The youngsters sang or shouted their “thank yous” and hurried up the stairs.
“Is all well, Aunt?” Jane asked, for Mrs. Gardiner obviously had news.
“I received a message from your uncle not half an hour ago. He is bringing two gentlemen to dinner tonight, a father and his son who recently finished his studies and is being groomed to join the family business.”
Elizabeth linked her arm with Jane’s. “We, too, will tidy ourselves, taking extra care so as not disgrace you and uncle,” she said, and the sisters went upstairs.
Aunt Gardiner watched them go fondly. “You two—disgrace us?” she murmured. “Alas, I fear that is Lydia’s purview.”
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At Lucas Lodge, Lady Lucas did not care whether she sounded as smug as she felt when she declared to Kitty and Mary Bennet, “It is such a comfort to have a daughter well settled.” For too many years, Mrs. Bennet had proclaimed the superiority of her five daughters, yet none of them had managed to catch a husband. While it was true that Mr. Collins had proposed to Elizabeth before offering for her Charlotte, Lady Lucas had convinced herself he did so only out of a sense of duty. If Lizzy Bennet chose to reject her cousin’s proposal, it was no concern of the Lucases.
She continued, “Mr. Collins is so devoted to Charlotte. And Sir William had nothing but praise for the gracious condescension of Lady Catherine. It was her ladyship who arranged for shelves to be put in the closets of Hunsford Parsonage.”
“Shelves in a closet are useful innovation indeed,” Kitty said.
“Mama, would you care for more mint tea?” Maria asked.
“Yes, I would, my dear. I scarcely feel like myself.”
After Maria left to arrange for the tea, Mary stood. “And I would be happy to play for you.” Before anyone could comment, she had seated herself at the pianoforte. At least I will have a few minutes of uninterrupted practice here.
Seeing Lady Lucas’s panicked expression, Kitty hurried to the piano, where Mary sat with her hands poised to strike a bold chord. “Sister,” she whispered, “might you play something simple? I once heard Lady Lucas say that ‘English Country Garden’ was her favorite folk song.” Reluctantly, Mary nodded and began to play a boisterous rendition. Looking to Kitty for approval, she saw instead her tense expression. “You are so skilled, Mary, it would be nothing for you to play the song as if it were a … a lullaby.”
“A lullaby?” Mary said skeptically.
“Something soothing.”
Mary glanced at Lady Lucas and noted her look of pain. Yes, I can be soothing, she thought. She began to play slowly and gently. Doing so felt odd at first, so she closed her eyes to concentrate, but she quickly found an unexpected satisfaction in the sounds her fingers produced. After playing the song through twice, she glanced again at Lady Lucas. Her ladyship was leaning back against the sofa cushions; her eyes were closed, and her expression was one of tranquil enjoyment.
Slowly Lady Lucas opened her eyes. Then she smiled at Mary. “Did your father engage a master for you, my dear? That is the best I have ever heard you play.”
Surprised by the compliment, Mary’s eyes teared. “No, I have no master … I … thank you.”
A moment later, a maid entered bringing a tray of tea and pastries for the young ladies, and Maria followed with an elegant, oversized china cup on a saucer. “Here is your mint tea, Mama.”
After Lady Lucas accepted the mint tea, Maria said, “Kitty and Mary and I will go into the garden, so we shan’t disturb you with our silly chatter.” Lady Lucas gave a single nod, and Maria led her guests out. The maid came last and placed the tea tray on the ornate table on the terrace.
As Maria prepared cups of tea, Mary asked, “What did you think of Hunsford Parsonage?” She had never revealed her secret wish that Collins had offered for her.
“It is larger than the parsonage in Meryton, but I suppose that is to be expected; Rosings is a very grand estate,” Maria said, handing the Bennet sisters their cups. “The draperies are heavy and dark, and most of the chairs and tables are gilded, but Charlotte has made it comfortable.”
“Would you say Mr. Collins is devoted to your sister?” Kitty asked. “He proposed to her so impetuously.”
“I believe you doubt Mr. Collins’s sincerity because he proposed to my sister scarcely two days after he proposed to Lizzy.”
“I meant no disrespect to Charlotte,” Kitty said hastily. “Yet when I imagine a courtship, I envision it unfolding in a more leisurely manner.”
“As we are all aware, Hertfordshire is not brimming with bachelors,” Maria said. “Charlotte had nearly given up hope of making a match. Now, as the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, my sister oversees her own home. She is a very good person, you know.”
“Of course, she is,” Mary said. “We all think highly of her.”
“Lizzy says Charlotte is the voice of good sense,” Kitty said.
“I daresay Lizzy did not think her sensible when she accepted Mr. Collins, but my sister was never romantic.” Maria looked from Kitty to Mary and then declared, “Forgive me if what I am about to say pains you, but your cousin Mr. Collins is a bully!”
“What?” Mary said. She and Kitty exchanged glances.
“Charlotte enjoys having her own home, and she and Mr. Collins get along well enough—at least when Lizzy is not around—but he is a petty, unkind man.”
“Did Lizzy and Mr. Collins have words?” Kitty asked.
“Not exactly. He scolded her for not being sufficiently awed by Lady Catherine, although I do not know how one measures one’s own ‘awe.’ Lady Catherine is frightening and rather unpleasant. She reminded me of Mr. Darcy, except while he merely scowls, she scolds.”
“Your father seemed impressed with the lady,” Mary said.
“Papa is always impressed by titles, especially his own,” Maria acknowledged.
After a pause, Kitty asked, “So, does Charlotte seem content?”
“She enjoys visiting the families in the parish. I went with her several times, and everyone was appreciative of her interest. While Charlotte gives her attention to the parishioners, Mr. Collins gives his attention to Lady Catherine, which is natural as his livelihood depends on pleasing her. This division of responsibilities seems to satisfy both. I would say that, yes, my sister is content.”
“You mentioned a Colonel Fitzwilliam in your letters,” Kitty said. “He sounded charming.”
“The colonel is all friendliness; we enjoyed his visits. I suppose most ladies would consider Mr. Darcy the handsomer of the two but, although the colonel is not as tall or fine-featured, he always had a smile and a pleasant word. In his person and his address, he is a true gentleman.”
“Was Mr. Darcy much changed from when he was in Hertfordshire last year?” Mary asked.
“He was still proud and silent, and he usually wore a stern expression. But Charlotte told me something surprising. She thinks Mr. Darcy has an affection for Lizzy!” Maria sat back and enjoyed the amazed expressions of the faces of her guests.
“If that is so, I hope he did not propose, for she surely would have said ‘no,’ and Mama would rage like a winter storm were that to happen,” Kitty said, and the ladies laughed.
“Mr. Collins said Miss De Bourgh is to marry Mr. Darcy, though I saw no particular affection between the cousins.”
“Is she pretty?” Mary asked, trying to imagine the lady who would be Mr. Darcy’s wife.
“She has the same dark hair and gray eyes as he does, but she is a rather small, thin creature. She said little in my presence, preferring to converse with her companion. I suspect she is nearly as cowed by Lady Catherine as I was. Lizzy, I must say, did not seem at all intimidated by her ladyship, which, I suspect, annoyed Mr. Collins,” Maria said.
“Is Miss De Bourgh’s companion an old dragon?” asked Kitty.
“Do not repeat this, I beg you, but the description ‘elderly dragon’ best suits Lady Catherine. No, the companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, is but a few years older than Miss De Bourgh. She is quiet and plain, though she could be pretty if she did not wear her hair in such a severe style and if her dresses were not so drab. I suspect Lady Catherine dictates Mrs. Jenkinson’s appearance, perhaps to ensure that the lady—for she is a gentleman’s daughter —does not outshine Miss De Bourgh.”
“Well, we have a new young man in the neighborhood,” Kitty said. “Have you heard?”
“Yes, I understand your tenant Mr. Laidlaw has a nephew here to help him,” Maria said.
“His name is Allen Ainsworth. He arrived the day before yesterday, but we have not yet seen him,” Mary said.
“We wished to give him and the Laidlaws some time together before we called,” Kitty said.
“How old is he?” Maria asked.
“I can’t imagine that he is much more than fourteen,” Kitty said.
“Perhaps he is a strapping lad with a light foot—someone new to dance with at Meryton’s next assembly,” Maria said.
“One can only hope,” Kitty said with a sigh.
10
“You have ruined me, and I do not thank you for it.
For nearly a decade, Scott Transport had conveyed the goods of Gardiner Imports across the length and breadth of England. Mr. Joseph Scott, a cordial fellow in his late forties, was the sort of dinner guest who preferred listening to talking. His son Elliot, a baby-faced man in his early twenties, was both more voluble and more fashionably attired than his father. Elizabeth guessed that the father was observing, assessing his son’s behavior in social situations. She was pleased to note there was no air of a rift or rivalry between the Scotts, unlike what she had seen between Anne De Bourgh and her mother.
Over a meal that included roast pork, haricot beans, and buttered turnips, Mr. Gardiner said, “You gentlemen are so rarely in town together that I am very pleased you could come to dinner.”
“It is very kind of you to include us in your family gathering,” Mr. Scott said.
“It is surely a pleasant thing to have lovely nieces visit,” Elliot said. “I understand you ladies are from Hertfordshire.”
Jane merely smiled at him, so Elizabeth answered, “Yes, are you familiar with the county?”
“Just passing through, for the most part,” Mr. Scott said.
Mrs. Gardiner asked, “Are you in town solely for business, or will you have an opportunity to enjoy the city’s entertainments?”
“About a month ago, there was an article in a London newspaper about new arrivals at the Royal Menagerie since last July,” Elliot said. “It mentioned some creatures which sounded quite exotic. I wouldn’t mind having a look. Have either of you ladies visited the menagerie?”
“No. I only arrived in town on Saturday,” Elizabeth said.
Jane smiled, shaking her head. “I have not been to the Royal Menagerie in several years.”
“We will take the children when they are older,” Mr. Gardiner said.
“Fortunately, we have two books with detailed drawings of animals from faraway places, and we use these in the education of our children,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
After a silence (for Elliot seemed to think he had introduced a topic on which everyone would wish to comment), Elizabeth asked, “Which exotic animals would you most like to see, sir?”
“Ah, well, the rhinoceros, of course. The newspaper called it the ‘real unicorn.’ And an ostrich—I cannot imagine a bird that is taller than a man.”
“I confess I have mixed feelings about the Royal Menagerie,” Elizabeth said. “While it is quite extraordinary to see animals that are not native to England, I do feel sorry for the creatures being so far from their homes.”
“The advancement of science often requires sacrifice,” Mr. Gardiner said.
“Yes, Uncle, but it is one thing for a person to say, ‘I choose to make this sacrifice for science,’ and quite another to have the act of sacrifice forced upon one.”
“Even a dumb animal?” Elliot said, surprised. Addressing Jane, he asked, “What are your thoughts, Miss Bennet?”
“Certainly, none of us would encourage the mistreatment of an animal,” Jane said.
Elizabeth gave Elliot an arch look. “You must admit, sir, it is through the ef
fort of ‘dumb animals’—I am thinking of horses and oxen, of course—that Scott Transport and Gardiner Imports are able to thrive.”
“I acknowledge your point, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Scott said, “for our greatest expense is the care of our drayage animals.”
“Of course, Father,” Elliot quickly agreed.
“Although in a few years, will the railways do the heavy work?” Mr. Gardiner mused.
“This is a possibility neither of us can afford to ignore,” Mr. Scott agreed.
And so the conversation continued, mixing business with current events and a touch of gossip about associates known to both the Scotts and the Gardiners. Yet throughout the evening, Elizabeth thought Jane seemed more reticent than usual. Is she quiet because she is not acquainted with the dinner company, or does she mourn the loss of Mr. Bingley?
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The Scotts did not stay late. As Mr. Gardiner said after they left, “They are the ‘early to bed, early to rise’ sort. Like myself.”
“I certainly do not mind an early evening,” Jane said. “The children kept us quite occupied today, so I shall wish you all a good night.” She started up the stairs.
“I will join you in a moment,” Elizabeth called after her.
With mock sternness, Mr. Gardiner told Elizabeth, “Avert your eyes, Niece, if your delicate sensibilities are offended by demonstrations of affection between a husband and wife.” Then he kissed his wife’s cheek. “Thank you for such a fine dinner. The Scotts appreciate a home-cooked meal when they travel.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
“And other than our Lizzy tweaking Elliot’s nose about ‘dumb animals,’ I think the evening went well,” Mr. Gardiner declared, his eyes twinkling with a tease for one of his favorite nieces.
“It came to my attention recently that I was badly brought up,” Elizabeth said, with a shrug. Her aunt and uncle laughed.
“Good night, ladies.” Mr. Gardiner bowed and headed for his bedchamber.
“Walk with me, Lizzy, while I extinguish the lamps in the parlor,” Mrs. Gardiner said.