2
A WASTED VISIT
“It says we are not to call under any circumstances—that Mrs Randall is too unwell for visitors.”
Elizabeth dropped her hands into her lap, crumpling the note from her mother at the edges. She had written to Mrs Bennet upon arriving at her uncle’s house to inform her that she and Jane were in town. This was the tardy and not very welcoming reply. In language that lacked even the merest attempt at mollification, Mrs Bennet had declared that her two eldest daughters were wasting their time in Gracechurch Street and would do better to return to Longbourn where they might secure themselves an officer each. They had not a hope of finding husbands in London, for they ‘had not the necessary wardrobe to go out in society’, and chasing after Mr Bingley was now to be thought of as a futile and debasing endeavour. Elizabeth had not dared read the letter aloud in Jane’s presence and had waited until she had a private moment with her aunt to vent her spleen.
“I do not disagree entirely with all her points,” Mrs Gardiner said. “Though her manner of expressing them leaves much to be desired.”
Elizabeth set her letter aside to pick up her tea and blow on it. It was still too hot to drink; she put it down again impatiently. “With which of her points do you agree? That Jane ought not to hope for reconciliation with Mr Bingley, or that she and I are not fit to be seen out in the clothes we have?”
Her aunt gave her a look that was at once sympathetic and reproving. “I suspect your mother is thinking about circles much higher than those in which your uncle and I move. The expectations for those women are much greater—she is not wrong about that.” She leant forwards and helped herself to a biscuit from the tray between them. “I do not agree that either you or Jane will struggle to attract eligible young men in London. You both have much to recommend you. Indeed, I am pleased you have come away from Meryton. Not all the men there were ideally situated.”
Elizabeth caught her aunt’s expressive look and sat a little straighter, trying not to feel defensive. “I thought you approved of Mr Wickham.”
“I liked him, to be sure, but the want of fortune on both sides would have made it a very imprudent match. I cannot say that I thought well enough of him to be content watching you struggle all your life in reduced circumstances.”
Elizabeth made a disgruntled sound. “A want of fortune that was entirely Mr Darcy’s doing. Had that gentleman acted as he ought to have done, my inclination for Mr Wickham would not have been considered imprudent by any measure.”
“True, though there is little point in dwelling on these things. Had your grandfather not entailed Longbourn away from the female line, you would not be similarly constrained. We must all do our best with the hand we are dealt. I am proud though, Lizzy, that you recognised the imprudence of it. I do not mind admitting that your decision to accompany Jane came as quite a relief.”
Elizabeth smiled weakly and forced herself to sip her still-too-hot tea. No such discretion had induced her—she had come only at her father’s behest, and her chief objection to doing so had been the loss of Mr Wickham’s company. Yet, whilst it might not be to her liking that she was here, itwasfor a purpose. She needed to see her mother.
“I do not think we should heed Mama’s caution. Jane would take comfort in seeing her, and surely Mama would receive some pleasure from seeing us after so long away from home. I think we should call on her.”
Mrs Gardiner agreed. It was settled that the following day, they would make the two-mile carriage ride to Mrs Randall’s establishment on Henrietta Street.
The address was near Covent Garden, and the pavements were bustling with people despite the chill January weather. After turning off Bedford Street, they drove past an array of shops, an eating house, a coffee-house, and at least two banks.
“This seems a respectable part of town,” Jane observed. “Does anybody know what Mrs Randall’s situation is?”
“I understand her late husband worked in the theatre,” Mrs Gardiner answered. “At least, that is what your uncle recalls. I do not know how the lady lives now.”
“Clearly she does not have the means to hire her own nurse,” Elizabeth observed. She regretted that she sounded bitter; it was only that she was coming to resent Mrs Randall’s demands on her mother’s time, for without that, Mrs Bennet would still be at Longbourn—as would she.
The carriage slowed, coming to a halt in front of a narrow but elegant brick elevation with ironwork balconies at its upper windows. Amidst the hurly-burly of settling in at Gracechurch Street, it had been easy to forget the anxiety and embarrassment with which her father had spoken of Mrs Bennet’s unusual behaviour. Looking up at the unfamiliar house where her mother had been living for the past few weeks, Elizabeth was reminded of the peculiarity of the situation. It occurred to her as they all alit from the carriage that perhaps Mr Bennet had been right to worry, and she began to dread what they would find within.
Mrs Gardiner knocked, and after a prolonged wait, the door was opened by a handsome woman, about their mother’s age, who sported a fine brocade house coat and brightly coloured slippers, along with an incongruously unflattering mob cap.
“You are early—oh!” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes? What do you want?”
Elizabeth shared a nervous look with Jane, but Mrs Gardiner was unperturbed. “Good morning. I am sorry to trouble you. We have come to see Mrs Bennet.”
“She is not in.” The woman started to close the door, and Elizabeth stepped forwards.
“Pardon me, I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet—Mrs Bennet’s daughter. This is my sister, Jane, her eldest, and Mrs Gardiner, her sister-in-law. Might you be able to tell us when you expect my mother back?”
The woman’s expression went from vexed to welcoming in the blink of an eye, though Elizabeth thought she caught a flash of alarm betwixt the two.
“I beg your pardon.” She clutched at the edges of her coat, pulling them closed against the cold air. “Had I known it was Franny’s family I was addressing, I should not have spoken so intemperately. My maid has taken the morning off and left me tofend for myself. Answering the door to you is the first time I have been out of bed in days.” She paused to give a loud, wheezing cough, sagging against the door with the effort. “Whatever will Franny say when she hears how I have treated her daughters? And after she has done so much for me!”
This was the woman herself, then. It was no great surprise that she had not remembered them, for they had been full young the last time she was in Meryton. Elizabeth’s memory was similarly flimsy, and though Mrs Randall had clearly aged well—her looks, like Mrs Bennet’s, still fine despite her age—her face was wholly unfamiliar.
“Mrs Randall?” Jane asked. When the woman nodded, she continued, “Pray do not spare it another thought. We are very sorry to have obliged you to leave your sickbed. We shall not keep you out of it a moment longer. If you would be so kind as to let our mother know we called?”
Mrs Randall smiled weakly and coughed again before mumbling that she would. Mrs Gardiner thanked her, and the three of them retreated towards the carriage, but the thought of her father waiting at home for news bade Elizabeth turn back to make one last attempt.
“Might I just ask where she has gone?”
