“Oh, my love!” Jane cried, “How can I ever thank you?”
Elizabeth was growing weary of gratitude. All of her anxious paranoia about the study was giving her a headache. It was because of this that her answer was both mumbled and clipped:
“If you must thank anyone, Jane, then thank Mr. Darcy. It was his idea.”
“Such an idea! It is one I am sure he did not invent alone. Someone must have told him of our woes - the samesomeonewho agreed to his terms. What have you done, Elizabeth? To live with that man! To tie yourself to a total stranger, for my sake! I do not deserve it. Oh, Lizzie!”
With that, Jane dissolved into tears. Lizzie had not thought that her choice was so terrible, until now. With every hiccough and sob, Jane blurted out another fear, another folly, until even her clever sister could find no answer.
Mr. Darcy was a stranger! Well, so too was Mr. Collins. Their cousin had only the benefit of an extra month’s familiarity. What was a month?
Mr. Collins had a trustworthy profession; Mr. Darcy was a mystery.
Elizabeth was glad to be able to tell Jane that Darcy was both rich and clever in his affairs. Strangely, it had not been a detail that made her smile, when Darcy himself had told her. Her ownprospects had paled in comparison to her sister’s happiness, and she had no expectations of anything more than basic comfort. Now, watching Jane’s eyes grow wide, Elizabeth felt a warm glimmer of excitement. It was not such a great sacrifice, after all!
Jane, however, was not finished. The last of her condemnations was the most damning:he is a drunkard.
Elizabeth had no response. There was nothing she could say to ease her sister’s mind.
The sisters had a moralistic education, which had been shared between prim governesses and the doctrines of the church. Both Jane and Elizabeth were clever enough to treat such lessons with some cynicism, but the lingering certainties were hard to escape:
Once a man turned to drink, he began to fall. Even one who claimed to have rejected the vice was still falling. There was no redemption for such men. A drunkard who claimed to be sober was not to be believed; a man who dulled his mind with drink was not to be trusted. That was the way of the world… as the sheltered young ladies understood it.
They had seen the effects of drinking for themselves, in their charitable visits and on the streets of the town. They did not look at the gutters, but they could not escape the stale smell. The words that came from such creatures made no sense, and their movements were erratic and frightening.
Yes, frightening. That was how the sisters saw drinkers. For young ladiesmustmarry, and theymustmarry well. What that meant was a man with position, wealth and connections. Sobriety was not a factor for marriage, only for the rest of their lives.
What was it like, to be married to such a man? Would they be tempted to drink, as well? If they remained aloof, then what followed? Mockery? Resentment?Punishment?
“At least we know of Mr. Darcy’s vices.” Elizabeth said slowly, “He seems far more honest than Mr. Collins, and has not tried to hide anything from me. Our cousin may be hiding any number of evils beneath that slimy smile.”
Jane bit her lip. “It may be that I shall soon find out. Mama will not see your engagement as a reason to prevent mine. Two married daughters are better than one, no matter how rich he may be.”
Elizabeth looked fierce, “No, Jane. That shallnothappen.”
“But if mama wishes it…”
“The sole condition of my marriage is that such an engagementcannottake place. Mr. Darcy will brook no argument. Father will agree - hemustagree. Whatever mama wants is irrelevant. She would not turn down a man like Mr. Darcy for a worm like Mr. Collins.”
Jane still did not look convinced, “But what reason can he give that will not cause offence? He cannot tell papa thatyouhave made such a demand.”
Elizabeth flushed a little, “He has a connection to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She is his aunt. I believe his reason for forbidding your marriage to Mr. Collins is because he refuses to be so closely connected to a man his family patronises.”
“Father will think Mr. Darcy insufferably proud.”
“Perhaps, and I am sorry for it. Mr. Darcy is thinking only of us, Jane.”
“It is very kind of him.” Jane hesitated and then ventured a trembling final question: “Why is he doing all of this for us, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth wanted to tell Jane about Georgiana Darcy but stopped herself. It was not her story to tell, nor Jane’s burden to bear. Instead, she reminded her sister of the chance encounter beneath the tree. Inventing a few pleasant conversations at the Meryton Ball, she made a pretty picture of a courtship that had never taken place. Jane’s eyes narrowed, knowing much of it to be false, but she did not challenge her sister.
“I can understand gentleness between you, Elizabeth. You are both good people, and it is only right that you should recognise that in each other. But why did he propose, and why so quickly? A man of Mr. Darcy’s standing can choose carefully and take his time. He certainly would not need to negotiate our family’s discord in order to find a bride.”
Elizabeth had been wondering the same thing. It had made her feel ill, when it had first occurred to her. After the lies she had just invented, her trembling voice rang with truth: “As you said, Jane, Mr. Darcy is a drunkard. It may be that I am the only person who would accept him. The only person… desperate enough.”
“I do not think that is fair, dearest. Women will tolerate a great deal for ten thousand pounds a year.”
“Then where are they? I fear that they must know Mr. Darcy much better than I. Perhaps they know of some other vice: something intolerable, no matter the reward. Oh, Jane, I am afraid!”
