Mrs Bennet gave a bitter hoot of laughter. “I should be so fortunate!”
Elizabeth refused to be distracted. “When do you intend to go home?”
“I have not decided.”
“But you do intend to?”
Her mother sipped her tea once, twice, and a third time, holding the cup to her lips between each mouthful as though she was hiding behind it.
“Mama, you must go home eventually.”
“Why?” The teacup was returned to its saucer with a loud clatter. “So your father can taunt me with jokes I do not understand? So my neighbours can laugh at me for losing my home to the Lucases? So my daughters can spurn my every effort to secure their futures? So I can be overlooked by everyone?”
These were precisely the reasons Elizabeth had guessed had chased her mother away, but hearing them recounted with such bitterness gave her pause. She had viewed her mother’s escape to London as a rather peevish act of defiance; it had never occurred to her that it might have been prompted by real and deep unhappiness.
“I am sorry you have been made to feel that way. But…people are beginning to question your absence. You would not like reports to start circulating that you had left permanently.”
“What if Iwereto leave? Maybe then you would all be sorry.”
“Of course we would be sorry, but do not jest! Think of what that would do to our family’s reputation. It would materially affect my sisters’ prospects if their mother and father were estranged.”
“Were you thinking of your sisters’ prospects when you refused Mr Collins?”
Elizabeth sat back in her seat, chastened and confused. “No, I did not think of my sisters, and for that I am sorry. But I am not their mother. You already have a husband, and a home, and a family. Would you really give that up—give us up?”
Mrs Bennet continued to glare petulantly, but she also blinked a few times, and her eyes grew dewy as she said in a voice that was, at last, a whisper, “It is not me who has given up.”
“Oh, Mama!” Elizabeth reached to squeeze her hand. She had never been ignorant of the impropriety of her father’s behaviour as a husband. Captivated by youth and beauty, Mr Bennet had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had, very early in their marriage, put an end to all real affection for her. Elizabeth had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she had endeavoured to forget it. Seeing her mother thus affected, she could not but think that to overlook her father’s neglect was tantamount to being complicit in it, and that shamed her deeply.
“What would you have me do?”
Mrs Bennet smiled fleetingly and patted Elizabeth’s hand with her free one. “Leave me alone—for a while, at least.”
Elizabeth wanted overpoweringly to object, to attempt to persuade her to another recourse. “But what should I say to Papa?”
“Nothing. If he bestirs himself to write to you, simply respond with the same alacrity he applies to all hiscorrespondence, and by then, I might have enjoyed enough of the Season to satisfy me.”
“Could you not come to my uncle’s house and enjoy it with Jane and me?”
A strange look passed over her countenance, and she gave a decisive shake of her head. “No. No, that would not do. I have not helped Jane’s search for a husband. She will do much better with your aunt’s superintendence.”
“That is not true?—”
“It is. Now let that be the end of the matter.” Mrs Bennet retracted both her hands and sat straighter, raising her voice to its customary volume. “Now run along, for my friend will be here soon, and since Lady La-de-da over there cannot spare any of her chairs, I shall be needing yours.”
Someone at the next table snorted with laughter. Elizabeth rose and wished her mother well, expressing the sincere hope of seeing her again soon and kissing her on the cheek in a far more earnest farewell than they had exchanged for some time. She left via the counter, intending to discharge her bill.
“There is nothing to pay, madam. Mr Darcy saw to it.”
From the server’s knowing smirk, Elizabeth rather thought Mr Darcy might come to regret this kindness; but it was done, and there was nothing she could do to change it. She thanked the man and made her way outside to find Maggie. It was only as she turned back onto Gracechurch Street an hour later that Elizabeth realised she had forgotten to ask her mother who her friend was.
Darcy saw Elizabeth leave. Inevitable, really, since the purpose of his present vigil was to watch the comings and goings at Gunter’s with the intention of intercepting Bingley, whom he suspected was the friend Mrs Bennet was meeting. He had hoped to find him inside, but Mrs Bennet had arrived first, making it untenable to continue waiting there. He had taken to walking up and down beneath the trees whilst keeping a close eye on the door of the premises.
He felt a cur for having left the shop, but he had been acutely aware of the attention he and Elizabeth were drawing—more so than she, he suspected, for he recognised some of the faces that had been turned upon them and knew that notice from such quarters was not usually so freely given. His annoyance at finding himself the object of speculation on account of Bingley’s indiscretion made him doubly incensed when the man himself came sauntering into the square as though he had not a care in the world.
He set out immediately to catch up with him, coming upon him from behind to say, “Walk with me,” in his ear.
Bingley squawked, but his fright was rapidly usurped by resignation upon comprehending who had accosted him. After a quick, rueful glance at the door to Gunter’s, he nodded glumly. “Very well.”
