Anne, feelinglike a bit of sport, thoroughly ignored Miss Bingley until Jane pointedly nudged her. She finally looked down her nose in a pitch-perfect imitation of Lady Catherine at her worst. “Miss Bingham.”
Anne neglected to make any curtsy at all and was quite enjoying the absurdity of the encounter.
Mr Bingley saw opportunity to possibly redeem himself. “Miss Bennet, might I have the honour of a set?”
“My dance card is entirely full. Good evening. Anne and I must find our partners before the first set begins.”
With that, both ladies made condescending pseudo-curtsies, and walked away from the gaping pair, smiling broadly.
“That, my dear Jane, was the greatest diversion I think I have ever had in my entire life… well, aside from knocking out a few of Darcy’s teeth… and watching your sister put my mother in her place.Thatwas a sight; I shall have to tell you about it. Mother had no idea what hit her.”
They both laughed at the success of their first battle and went to the refreshments table for punch. They of course could have had some gentlemen get the refreshments for them, or they could very well have had the general or another gentleman with them when they met the Bingleys, but they were both well satisfied and ready to dance.
Matlock
Travelling with the Wythes was everything wonderful; indeed, it was so agreeable to Elizabeth that she sometimes managed an hour or two running without thinking of Mr Darcy and her situation.
Mr Wythe had business to conduct, but the rest of the journey was spent in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certain—that of suitableness of companions; a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences—cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure—and affection and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.
Margaret was everything a younger sister should be. She was lively and effervescent like Lydia, but without the self-indulgence, greed, and general disagreeableness. She played the pianoforte better than Mary but was not such a proficient as to make it uncomfortable for them to play duets. Her voice was sweet and light, which complemented Lizzy’s well. The young lady was not nearly as well read as Elizabeth, nor was Mrs Wythe, but between father and daughter they had ample conversation for a twelvemonth, let alone a journey of a few weeks. Mrs Wythe was sensible and kind, like Mrs Gardiner. They had been disappointed to be blessed with only one child that lived, but they were happy in Margaret and had no cause or inclination to repine.
Elizabeth eagerly watched every new prospect, every new wood, every grand house with the fascination of long study and desire. She viewed many estates in Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, and Birmingham, each more interesting than the last. Some were grand edifices to self-importance, as she tended to think of Rosings. Some were not-so-grand but had families orstewards who were agreeable or disagreeable, but nonetheless interesting. Every estate had informed and less informed conjectures as to their income, though Elizabeth suspected Mr Wythe’s estimates were not far from the mark.
She viewed estates like Longbourn, with incomes of one to three thousand pounds. Each of those gave her a small perspective on what could happen in life. She met people of the villages, including shopkeepers, rectors, and servants.
One pair of ladies in Blenheim gave her a bit of a chill. The parents had but two daughters, with the estate entailed on male heirs. One of the daughters married reasonably well and moved away, but the widow and her elder daughter, a Mrs and Miss Bates, were cast from their home and left to shift for themselves in the town, exactly as Mrs Bennet feared. According to Mr Wythe, the father tried hard to save funds to take care of his widow and any unmarried daughters, but his life was cut short by a sudden illness when he was merely thirty-five, and the nephew who inherited had no use for them.
The two ladies had enough to take rooms and keep from starving, but barely. Meeting them was a chilling reminder of what could happen should things go amiss—andherfather had not even troubled himself to save any money at all. Miss Bates was kind, but hardly clever enough to prosper as a governess or companion, while taking employment would leave her mother alone and not much better off, since it cost nearly as much to support one unmarried lady as two. The Bates ladies had few palatable choices.
Elizabeth began to calculate the mortification of five unmarried daughters, three of whom were too ignorant to be employable as anything save the worst scullery maids that ever lived, and the elder two only barely adequate as governesses. Up to that point, she had been reasonably sanguine about her future should she never marry, but this experience gave her aperspective that had never quite struck her. It was one thing to see people born to poverty and living it every day, and quite another to see people just like her brought so low.
She did not know if Mr Wythe introduced them deliberately or not and would be mortified to ask or even hint, but it was a lesson she would have to consider. She could not repine giving up the supposed security of Hunsford parsonage if it cost a life with Mr Collins; but throwing away Mr Darcy of Pemberley was giving up something indeed—though, to be fair—after four weeks it seemed likely that bird had flown.
Elizabeth was not made for melancholy, and a fortnight later she was pleased to enjoy a tour of the grand estate of Matlock. Mr Wythe customarily applied to the housekeeper whenever he came to an estate worth seeing. The Wythes were interested in everybody and everything, so she had seen estates half the size of Longbourn, and others half as big as Parliament. She had seen everything from estates so hideous they made her long for the cosiness of Rosings, to those so wonderfully situated she could live in them quite well forever, even as a maid.
Matlock was the latter. It was a large estate, boasting several hundred sheep. Mr Wythe had seen the house many times, so with much ground to cover, he asked the housekeeper to give the ladies a tour. He was to be absent the entire afternoon and evening.
Elizabeth was captivated by Matlock. It was certainly grand, but she had seen grand before without being unduly impressed. One charm of the place was that the Earl did not scruple to spend money, but not frivolously. The house was as grand as Rosings, but they took a much more pragmatic approach. If he spent on a fireplace, it should throw out heat well, not smoke too much, use minimal coal, and might incidentally have some decorative value. This from the housekeeper, who havingdiscovered that Elizabeth had a fascination with such matters, was perfectly willing to indulge her curiosity.
She learned that housekeepers conducted tours chiefly for gratuities, deriving a significant income from the activity. Anyone who survived long enough to become housekeeper in a great house knew how the world worked and how to make a story interesting. The Wythes were generous with their tips, even more so with their polite attention, and Margaret particularly fascinated Mrs Wilson.
She had been housekeeper for twenty years, delivering family from cradle to grave. The elderly housekeeper liked Miss Bennet, but she adored Miss Wythe. Elizabeth suspected Margaret reminded her of a possibly deceased daughter, or perhaps a niece; or maybe she complicated matters. Perhaps the elderly housekeeper just liked her for no particular reason.
Elizabeth was happily strolling through a sculpture gallery while Mrs Wilson explained matters to Margaret, when she came up short, drawing an agitated and embarrassingly noisy breath. Unfortunately, she did so just as the lady of the house wandered by.
Lady Matlock knew of the visitors. She liked to greet her guests to satisfy her curiosity, and in truth for the chance to liven up a dull day. Coming up behind the elder of the two young ladies, she heard the sound but could make no sense of it. The gasp came right as she encountered a marble bust of her youngest son.
“Are you quite well, Miss?” she asked in concern.
Elizabeth closed her eyes in mortification and wondered if she could do anything to open the floor and allow her to escape without notice. Staring daggers at the sandstone had no effect, so she was obliged to face the mistress.
“I beg your pardon, my lady; I am quite well. I did not mean to startle you.”
Lady Matlock was a distinguished member of theton, and she could practically smell prevarication. The young lady had in fact been startled, but her reaction after that was everything proper. A quick perusal of her clothing told Lady Matlock a great deal. The elder obviously wore a dress borrowed from the younger and fitted up. The sewing was exquisite, yet seams and folds gave evidence of the small alterations required to ensure a fit. She did not appear a sister to the younger, so perhaps she was a visiting friend who simply did not have her wardrobe with her.
The younger girl seemed barely out of the schoolroom, far more excited than the elder—or at least less able to hold it in while in company—but still polite and amiable. The elder looked like she might happily be a bit of a spitfire in her own element, but here she was subdued and nervous.
Lady Matlock, never afraid to indulge her curiosity, decided to introduce herself, hoping to light the fire she suspected lay hidden behind the young lady’s manners.
