Once upstairs, Jane embraced her sister and whispered, “Thank you—thank you.”
“For what?” Elizabeth asked, surprised.
“For taking Mary to London. I could not have gone myself. Papa has received a letter from Mr Bingley.”
Elizabeth’s heart leapt.
“And…?”
“He has asked permission to call upon us once he arrives at Netherfield.”
“And Papa—?”
“He has sent word to Netherfield:Mr Bingley, you are welcome at Longbourn.”
Chapter 11
It was the third time Mary recounted the tale; yet, on this occasion, Elizabeth did not interrupt her. Mrs Gardiner was a person Mary knew well. Her former timidity seemed, at last, to have deserted her, for she now found herself, for the first time in her life, the object of general attention. Listening, Elizabeth admired the clearness with which she set forth the facts, and the order she gave them, which lent them a natural authority.
I shall do the same with Lady Matlock, she resolved. Yet before her lay a mission of difficulty. The story was not beyond all doubt; some particulars were wanting, while others might be just imagined. Should it prove false, she would hazard forever any hope of advancing towards a relationship with Mr Darcy, who would think her nothing but a dealer in idle gossip. At this thought, despite the warm day and the oppressive air within the carriage, Elizabeth felt a sudden chill.
“What is wrong, my dear?” asked Mrs Gardiner, observing the troubled expression that overspread her fair countenance.
“I have just realised that our story may not be true. I am going to wait upon Lady Matlock, and even the visit itself is perplexing. We never spoke of continuing our acquaintance in London, and yet here am I at her door with a tale that even a novelist might hesitate to invent—”
“It is by no means incredible, my dear. From what I have learnt from Mary, it bears a true aspect. How many young ladies with hair of that colour have a mother so well acquainted with Meryton as to possess such particulars respecting its inhabitants?”
“We are still ignorant of the name of Sophia’s husband. That would be a solid piece of information.”
“Yes, but your uncle Phillips has undertaken to search for it amongst his papers, and he is persuaded he once set it down. He is a methodical man and a scrupulous solicitor.
“You are not going there to beg a favour. You may be said to be performing a benevolent office for the benefit of a gentleman whom you hold in the highest esteem.”
Yet nothing her aunt, nor even her uncle, could urge was sufficient to quiet her mind. In truth, it was not solely theBetrothed Story—as she named it with a touch of humour—that agitated her; it was also the knowledge that she was to meet a member of his family. Her uncle had reminded her that she had no personal concern in uncovering the truth, but she knew that this was not wholly so. Beyond her desire to serve Colonel Fitzwilliam, there lurked a secret wish to see Mr Darcy.I do not wish to reproach myself for that longing, she thought, yet she could not dismiss the sense that she was withholding the whole truth from her family—and from his.
Still, in observing her sister’s altered manner, she perceived that her undertaking might serve another end: it might impart to Mary a greater confidence in herself. Speaking with their aunt, she was quite another creature. It was grievousto reflect that, through all those years, so little had been done to aid Mary in finding her proper place within life, or even within the family.I shall never again permit you, sister, to be neglected, she vowed. The thought brought a measure of comfort amidst the tumult of her mind, which was full of moving images—Lady Matlock, the red-haired lady with some dark design, and then Darcy, again and again. She wondered whether her uncle’s letter might already have drawn him from Pemberley.
The journey to London passed swiftly. In former days, when she had been eager to arrive, it had seemed to take an age. Then, amid her restless thoughts, she found herself in the Gardiners’ library with her aunt and Mary, who were assisting her in composing a message to Lady Matlock. Upon the desk lay two or three sheets already torn.
At length, they settled upon a brief, impartial form:
My lady,
Following certain events affecting my family, we are in possession of intelligence which might place Colonel Fitzwilliam in danger. I am in London, and I humbly request an interview.
Respectfully yours,
Elizabeth Bennet
Mrs Gardiner was obliged to take the paper from her hand, lest she attempt another version.
“Enough, my dear. It is but a message, and the rest lies in her ladyship’s hands.”
No sooner had the note been despatched than another anxiety rose in Elizabeth’s mind.
“What shall I wear if Lady Matlock should invite me?”
At last—a problem Mrs Gardiner could solve. The following morning, after breakfast, Elizabeth tried on every gown she had brought, but none satisfied her.
