Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  After church, when Mrs. Bennet repeated Maria’s news, such a rage surged through Lydia that she felt she might collapse and die on the spot. Which would serve everyone right if they were suddenly deprived of my lively company. How terribly sad!

  Thus, instead of returning home immediately as was expected, Lydia waited until a Meryton matron claimed her mother’s attention and then slipped away to walk around town for awhile. When at last she returned to Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet made no comment and, as Mr. Bennet was napping in his study, there were no repercussions for Lydia’s minor act of defiance.

  ≈≈≈

  As had become their custom after church, the parties from Netherfield and Longbourn (which included Ainsworth) walked together to the road at the edge of town. From there, the Bennets and Ainsworth would continue on to Longbourn, and their friends would return to the livery stable to retrieve their horses and the curricle in which Fitzwilliam and Georgiana now traveled to church. Just before they reached the fork, Elizabeth said, “In a week, it will be Midsummer night.”

  “Is that a special day in Meryton?” Darcy asked.

  “It is a special day for the Bennets,” Jane said.

  “What is it about, Miss Mary?” Ainsworth asked.

  Mary sighed mournfully. “We have a picnic and do a reading of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’”

  “That sounds delightful,” Georgiana said.

  “Unless you always play the most foolish characters.”

  “Which is why this year we shall call upon our friends—yes, all of you here—to join us,” Elizabeth said. “Mary shall read the part of Hermia, the beautiful maiden torn between love and duty.”

  “But—” Mary had long dreamed of playing Hermia but feared she was not pretty enough to be believable.

  Jane interrupted. “Lizzy and I have each had our turn, as has Lydia. It is your turn, Mary. And next year, it will be Kitty’s turn.”

  “We have four copies of the play at Longbourn,” Kitty said.

  “At Netherfield, there is a volume of the complete works of Shakespeare,” Darcy said.

  “Is there?” Bingley asked, and everyone laughed.

  “How many copies are at Darcy House?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “At least two—the play itself and a volume of Shakespeare’s comedies.”

  “Let us check with the bookseller here before we send for those,” Darcy suggested.

  Fitzwilliam asked, “Have you given thought, Miss Elizabeth, as to the roles the rest of us shall play?”

  “Do you doubt me, Colonel?”

  “Never, madam!” At once, an image of Lady Penelope disguised as Master Penn appeared in the colonel’s thoughts. Someday, Miss Elizabeth, I would like you to meet a lady who is very special to me. I am certain you will be friends.

  Later that day, with copies of the play in hand, the friends met at Longbourn to hear Elizabeth’s ideas for the various roles. There was some discussion about the minor parts, but by the time the friends parted, each person had been given at least one interesting character to play, and they had agreed to have a rehearsal at Netherfield on Tuesday evening, with the intention of having their performance and picnic on Saturday.

  ≈≈≈

  For the four days that Lady Catherine was indisposed, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson engaged in their favorite activities: walking at Beechen Cliff with its glorious view, taking an easy ramble to the nearby village of Weston, and strolling along the Kennet and Avon Canal in the evening. They also enjoyed a night at the theatre, lemonade at the Sydney Gardens, and a concert in the Upper Rooms. “It’s as if Christmas and my birthday have occurred on the same day,” Anne said as she and her companion enjoyed tea in a newly opened shop that offered French pastries.

  On Sunday, Lady Catherine declared herself well, so the next day, she, Anne, and Mrs. Jenkinson attended a nuncheon given by Lady Hopwood. It was here “the pianoforte incident” occurred, shifting the delicate balance among the ladies of Rosings.

  The nuncheon was not going as Lady Hopwood had planned. Only one guest, a Miss Morland, was musical, and after that lady had played two compositions on the harp, she insisted someone else have a turn. However, no one stepped forward to provide entertainment. Glaring at her guests, Lady Hopwood complained to Lady Catherine, “I am astounded these other ladies do not play! What has become of standards? How can these girls expect to find a husband if they do not possess some musical ability?”

  “Perhaps they are reluctant because they do not play as well as Miss Morland. She is quite good, although had Anne learned the harp, her skills would have surpassed Miss Moreland’s. My daughter would have been a true proficient.”

  Having heard similar assertions from Lady Catherine over the years, Lady Hopwood ignored her. “Surely some other lady here can play the harp or the pianoforte,” she muttered, trying to recall whether she had ever heard any of her guests perform.

  “Anne’s companion plays pianoforte. She is no great talent, but I have heard her play often, and there is a heartfelt quality to it. I shall tell her to perform,” Lady Catherine said.

  “If she wouldn’t mind, that would be very helpful.”

  “Mrs. Jenkinson would be happy to perform,” Lady Catherine promised. Upon finding Mrs. Jenkinson in conversation with Mr. Stafford, her ladyship interrupted in a manner that bordered on incivility. She responded to Stafford’s greeting with a brief nod and then addressed Mrs. Jenkinson. “I would like you to play the pianoforte for Lady Hopwood.”

  “Madam?” Oh dear lord, please let me not have heard her correctly! Mrs. Jenkinson prayed.

  “Lady Hopwood wishes to have music, and as no other guest cares to perform, you must contribute to our entertainment. You are not greatly skilled, but you have a pleasant enough style.”

  Our deception has come back to haunt me! Mrs. Jenkinson looked around for Anne but did not see her. “Mr. Stafford, would you be so kind as to find Miss De Bourgh?” From the desperate look on her face, he knew something was very wrong, and he hurried away.

  “Madam, have you gone deaf?” Lady Catherine demanded, her tone a mix of annoyance and confusion. “I have asked you to provide some musical entertainment.”

  “My apologies, but I cannot,” Mrs. Jenkinson said simply.

  “Nonsense! I have already told Lady Hopwood you would.”

  “I am sorry, your ladyship, but I am not feeling up to it.”

  “I must insist!” Lady Catherine said in a furious whisper. “You are making a scene!”

  Suddenly, Anne was at Mrs. Jenkinson’s elbow, with Stafford behind her. “Mama, what is the matter?”

  “Your companion has gone mad! Lady Hopwood wishes to have someone provide music, and Mrs. Jenkinson refuses her simple request.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson felt a rush of relief when Anne offered her hand and asked, “Shall we walk to the instrument together, Nora?”

  As the ladies settled themselves on the pianoforte bench, they were happily unaware of Lady Catherine’s angry gaze. I will not forget this insolence from a nobody in my employ!

  Looking through the compositions on the music rack, Mrs. Jenkinson whispered, “Do you know any of these pieces?”

  “Ah, here’s a composition I have played before. Will you turn the pages for me?”

  “Always.”

  After taking a fortifying breath, Anne began to play in company for the first time since her impromptu performance at Rosings for the ladies of Hunsford Parsonage. Her effort was indeed heartfelt and pleasing to the ear.

  Lady Hopwood came to stand beside Lady Catherine. “You said your daughter did not play. Yet, though I would not call her a proficient, her effort is quite pleasant.”

  “She took lessons as a child, but has not played in years,” Lady Catherine said stiffly. “Mrs. Jenkinson is the only musical person at Rosings.”

  “Is it possible the music you attributed to Mrs. Jenkinson was in fact made by Anne?” Lady Hopwood asked; she was not surprised when Lady Catherine made no reply
.

  26

  “I would dearly like to have one of your secrets.”

  June 18, 1811

  In Netherfield’s formal garden, enclosed within tall hedges of whitethorn, Kitty and Elizabeth gathered pasqueflowers and peonies for Titania’s bower. With both at the task, their baskets were soon filled. “I shall take these into the house,” Kitty said.

  Elizabeth looked around. “If the hedge did not block so much light, this garden would be a pleasant place for our performance. Well, I will join you shortly. We still need a large branch for the thorn bush at the end of the play.”

  “I believe the colonel said he would find a branch,” Kitty remarked as she disappeared around the wall of shrubbery.

  Happy to have a moment to herself, Elizabeth sat on a marble bench and turned her face to the late afternoon sun. How pleasant this summer has been! I shall have to be especially attentive regarding our little play so I can do it justice when I describe it in a letter to Anne and Nora. Are they still in Bath, I wonder?

  Elizabeth’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices, and she recognized Darcy and Fitzwilliam in conversation. She hoped they might peek into the formal garden, so she might surprise them, but instead they passed on the other side of the hedge, unaware of her presence.

  “Excellent news that Bingley and Miss Bennet are officially courting,” Darcy said.

  He is pleased about this; he will make no effort to stop it, Elizabeth thought.

  “Indeed. Your work here is nearly done,” Fitzwilliam said. Elizabeth was about to call a greeting but stopped when she heard his next remark. “So, Darcy, will you return to London to continue searching for a wife? When you made that vow at Rosings, I noted it in my pocket diary.”

  Elizabeth was shocked into stillness. Mr. Darcy is looking for a wife in London? But at the assembly, he was attentive and charming. Was he … practicing on me? Like the conversations he practiced with Georgiana and her companion?

  As if in answer to her unspoken question, Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth seemed quite pleased with how I conducted myself at the assembly. If her demeanor is any indication, I believe I am ready to win me a wife.” Fitzwilliam’s reply was lost as the men moved beyond hearing range.

  Elizabeth struggled to comprehend what she had heard. I must take Mr. Darcy at his word; he came here at Bingley’s behest—and to show that my questions helped him to improve himself. It was foolish of me to hope he would renew his attentions. Yet what of Georgiana’s report of his interest in me? He knows she and I have become friends. Perhaps he hopes to delay the disappointment she may feel when she learns I am not his choice to be a sister for her.

  “Lizzy, come rehearse!” Mary called through the music room’s glass-paned door, which opened to the front of the house. Feeling bewildered, Elizabeth automatically turned her steps toward the manor, her disappointment making her uncharacteristically quiet. However, by the time the would-be performers had arranged themselves into small groups, her overriding emotion was anger. As she looked at Darcy sitting across from her in a foursome that also contained Mary and Ainsworth, her stare became a glare.

  As Hermia, Mary read, “Why are you grown so rude? What change is this? Sweet love—”

  Ainsworth, as Lysander, read, “Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out! Out, loathed medicine, hated potion, hence!”

  Mary read, “Do you not jest?”

  Elizabeth, as Helena, read, “Yes, sooth; and so do you.” Yet her thoughts were in turmoil. Inconsistent, vexing man!

  Ainsworth read, “Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.”

  Darcy, as Demetrius, replied, “I would I had your bond, for I perceive a weak bond holds you: I’ll not trust your word.”

  Elizabeth slammed her book shut. “Nor will I trust yours, sir!”

  Puzzled, Mary and Ainsworth consulted their scripts, while Darcy gave Elizabeth an odd look. “Might you be reading from a different page?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” Elizabeth said tersely. I cannot rehearse with them as if I did not hear what I heard. Darcy and I must talk, else I … I ….

  Mary, feeling anxious about playing the role of the beautiful heroine, reacted with more annoyance than was her habit. “Lizzy, it is as if you are reading another play entirely!”

  Sensing this conflict had nothing to do with Shakespeare, Ainsworth touched Mary’s arm. “Why don’t we rehearse the scenes between Hermia and Lysander? Then Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy can rehearse their own scenes, perhaps in the garden.”

  “Yes—fine!” Mary said crossly.

  “Fine!” Elizabeth called loudly. She stormed out of the open double doors and into the garden enclosed by the tall hedge.

  Darcy followed her. “Why are you angry, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “My apologies.” She struggled to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “As you are leaving Hertfordshire shortly, I do not wish us to be on bad terms. After all, once my sister marries Mr. Bingley, we may find ourselves in company on occasion.”

  “Am I leaving Hertfordshire shortly?”

  “I was in the garden collecting flowers for our rehearsal when

  I heard the colonel say you were off to London to seek a bride. You said you felt ready to ‘win a wife.’”

  “You have misunderstood what you heard.”

  “So my mistake is in taking you at your word?”

  As she turned away, he grasped her upper arm with as much gentleness as he could manage while still maintaining a firm grip. “Elizabeth,” he began, but off her look, he amended, “Miss Elizabeth, when the time is right, I will leave Hertfordshire, but not to seek a wife.” He released her arm.

  “The colonel said—”

  “He was mocking me, for he knows of my affection for you. I did endeavor to find a suitable bride in town, but my efforts came to naught because I compared every lady to you. No one matched your spirit, your wit, and your loveliness.”

  He admires me but …. “Sir, you are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings have changed from what they were last April, kindly tell me so.”

  Taking both her hands, Darcy kissed each palm in turn. When his eyes met hers, her breath caught in a little gasp at the intensity of his gaze. He assured her, “My feelings are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on the subject forever.”

  “Lord, what fools we mortals be,” she said, sighing. “Yes, I like you. No, truly, I do not. That is, I like you more than merely ‘like.’ I admire you, and I feel … affection … and ….”

  “Peace, I will stop thy mouth,” he said and kissed her lightly once and again.

  When they separated, Elizabeth smiled. “So, now you quote me ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’ You know your Shakespeare, sir.”

  “Will you marry me? My libraries at Darcy House and Pemberley have all the works of the Bard and his contemporaries, all the poetry of—”

  “Peace, sir, I will stop thy mouth,” she said, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. Afterward, she whispered against his lips, “Yes, I will marry you.” It was only after several kisses, each more ardent than the last, that either spoke again.

  “It is exactly four weeks since you presented Georgiana and yourself at Longbourn, yet during that visit, you looked as if you did not care about me.”

  “You did not speak to me, and you gave me no encouragement,” he reminded.

  “I was embarrassed.”

  “So was I.”

  “After that first visit, you confused me with conversations and actions which were as likely to be platonic as romantic. You said nothing that revealed your intentions.”

  “A man who had felt less might have said more. I wanted to be certain your opinion of me had … improved. For if you did not share my feelings, I did not want to make you uncomfortable by pursuing you.” Instead of reassuring Darcy with words, Elizabeth kissed him again. And again. When at last they parted, he waited until his breathing calmed before asking, “Shall I see you home and talk to your father?”
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  Elizabeth groaned. “Oh dear heavens, no!”

  Equal parts amused and exasperated, Darcy exclaimed, “Am I doomed never to receive the response a gentleman expects from a lady when he proposes?”

  “Longbourn is in a bit of an uproar, with Mama and Papa at odds on various matters. Might we keep this between us until Mr. Bingley proposes and Jane accepts?”

  “So, you agree that we have an agreement?”

  “Forsaking all others, I pledge my heart to you.”

  “Very well, I will wait. However, I will be urging Bingley to get to it.” Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm. “I suppose we should return to the house. We have a play to read, though I suspect our greatest performance will be keeping this secret.”

  ≈≈≈

  June 20, 1811

  Although it was not yet eleven in the morning, Lydia Bennet was bored. She had not been invited to the rehearsal for “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” two evenings ago, and she still received her dinner on a tray in her room.

  Papa is probably in his study. Mama is probably still abed. My sisters and their friends are playing croquet, and I am a prisoner in my own home! How unfair!

  Lydia drifted from the bedroom of one sister after another, peering in closets and bureaus. Out of spite, she combed through Elizabeth’s drawers with great thoroughness, eager to find a bit of trim to pilfer. Won’t Lizzy be vexed when she sees her fripperies decorating my bonnet?

  Instead, Lydia found a folded piece of paper. “Oh, what have you hidden here? A love letter?” she murmured, twitching the square of paper between her fingers. Certainly, no one would know if she were to read her sister’s correspondence unless she herself spoke of it. Tapping the folded page against her bottom lip, she murmured, “Do you have a secret, Lizzy? I would dearly like to have one of your secrets.”