Mama sniffed. “I am sure that despite the pretence they made in public, that the girl could not stand her mother. Otherwise, she would not have done such an awful thing to poor Mrs. Smith.”
What could be said to such confidence? Elizabeth turned her face down to hide her smile.
“Lord! If only you had shown parental instincts towards Miss Emily when Mr. Darcy was yet present. He might have realized that the girl needed a motherthen. But now he is gone, and I dare say he’ll never come back. And he scared off your other suitor. That… hmmm.” Not even Mama could find a really positive thing to say about Mr. Sykes. “It was most unhandsome of him to not marry you after scaring Mr. Sykes off. I thought you two would settle the issue when you went onto that balcony. You came in with eyes that looked like they’d been scratched by a cat, and Mr. Darcy was gloomier than ever. You never said precisely what happened on that balcony.”
“Mama, we only talked.”
“Heavens! Young women these days. You have no notion of how to behave. You should have embraced him. Given him a kiss. He must be desperate for a woman after so much time since his wife’s death.” Mama looked around, to ensure that none of her younger daughters could hear, and then said in a much too loud stage whisper, “Gentlemen require regular release.”
Elizabeth grimaced and blanched. She wished to hear nothing about the subject from her mother. “Mama! You know you must not speak of such things.”
“Hmph. I sometimes think it would be better if young girls were told all of the details by their mothers before they went intosociety. I do not know that ignorance really keeps them from misbehaviour. And after all of the books that Mr. Bennet let you read, I’d not be surprised if you think you know more about the subject than you do.”
What could be said to that?
“But you were not nearly forward enough.” Mama shook her head sadly. “You should have kissed him, and then someone would have seen through the window, and you would have had to marry.”
“Or he would have rightly insulted me as the worst sort of fortune hunter and immoral woman.”
“The man knew, deep down, that he needed a wife. But you’ve lost the chance, and it will be another girl. Oh, oh! And if Jane dies in childbirth, Mr. Collins will cast us all out, and we will starve in the hedgerows.”
“Mama, do not be ridiculous,” Elizabeth replied. “When we find ourselves cast out, penniless, with no home or relations, after you have lost your own fortune, and all your siblings have died themselves, we would go into the workhouses. And though I believe the food cannot be pleasant there, and the work would be arduous, we would not starve, and neither would we be in the hedgerows.”
“You care nothing for my nerves!”
It was impossible for Elizabeth to make a reply to that, especially as she was keenly aware that she had just mocked her mother’s, not wholly ridiculous, fears.
“If only you had simply married Mr. Sykes. He was the sure thing. And now Mr. Darcy is gone, and we’ll never see him again.”
That thought did nothing to improve Elizabeth’s spirits. And the advice did much to relieve Elizabeth’s guilt about having been unkind to her mother. So rather than saying anything elsethat she would be ashamed to admit to Jane that she had said, Elizabeth escaped the room.
Mama followed this conversation with a journey into town, waving her letter from Mr. Collins about, so that she could share her gossip about Mr. Darcy’s sister with everyone. Within two days the whole town was talking about it. However, at the next assembly ball, Mr. Bingley changed the note of the rumours when he absolutely insisted that Miss Darcy was still unmarried, and residing once more at Pemberley.
He had that as specific information from Darcy.
Bingley however couldnotdeny the claim that Miss Darcy hadattemptedto elope with the steward’s son. Nor that they had spent several nights sleeping together on the road, unchaperoned by anyone but the companion who the world generally believed had been Mr. Wickham’s mistress.
Eventually rumours and tales from those who heard about the story in London came to Meryton. Elizabeth did not putmuchconfidence in any of what she heard on the matter, but she still paid attention to each new detail revealed: The couple had been found and stopped near the border of Scotland, and there had been a serious altercation between Mr. Darcy and his father’s former favourite (all of the stories insisted that Mr. Wickham had been beloved by Mr. Darcy’s father — though the moral drawn from this fact differed with the story teller).
Finally, Bingley’s certain information made clear that Miss Darcy, still in her guise as Miss Dacy — though Elizabeth heard three persons confidently claim that Darcy pretended that a marriage that had been solemnized with vows beforethe blacksmithhad not in fact occurred — lived once more with her brother and niece at Pemberley.
Perhaps Darcy had fought a duel with Mr. Wickham. And perhaps he had been wounded, or maybe he had killed his man, or maybe he had merely wounded the other gentleman. Possiblyhe’d deloped while Mr. Wickham desperately tried to shoot him through the heart but missed.
Elizabeth guessed that the story of a duel was fictitious, as she did not think that Darcy would fight due to his concern for Emily’s fate. The tale of the supposed duel did become progressively more horrifying and absurd with each of its many retellings.
The vicinity of Meryton, like any neighbourhood of four and twenty families, had an ample amount of small village scandals and delightful tales of reprobate behaviour. But there were not enough great heiresses in a neighbourhood with no great heiresses to draw any terribly handsome fortune hunters — the excellent countenance of Mr. Wickham was another matter all stories agreed on. Such a connection to great society anditsfar foibles was delightful to nearly all. Thus, the story hung on in general discussion for a long time, even though it was a tale about a girl who had never been seen by anyone, and a gentleman who had been resident for only two months.
Poor, poor Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth could not stop worrying for him, keeping him in her nightly prayers, and hoping that he would, despite everything, ride back to Longbourn and throw himself at her feet begging her to marry him, despite the scandal that swirled about his name.
It would be dishonest if Elizabeth did not also confess to having a little delight at the thought of how after Darcy had accused her younger sisters of being wild, and her mother of being vulgar, that it washissister who eloped.
That was not a thought though that Elizabeth dwelt on. First, ‘twas unkind, and she did not wish to be unkind, even in thought, towards Mr. Darcy. Further, she was convinced that a man half as handsome as Mr. Wickham was reputed to be,any one of the lieutenants in the regiment if they were daring enough, could convince Lydia to elope with him.
It was her lack of fortune and the web of social observation in a neighbourhood where everyone knew who she was that made that danger unlikely, not Lydia’s superior virtue.
This was the lesson that Elizabeth drew from the tale: Should she ever marry — a fate that presentlyfeltimpossible — and have children, she would never allow the girls to have a period of independence without a watchful parental eye until they were either safely married, or at least nineteen.
