Captain Darcy, however, was staring at the map, his expression faintly dubious. Eventually he tapped one corner and asked, “Are you quite sure about this section here? For I rode down there yesterday, and the stand of trees and the hill were not quite as they are shown here.”
This was something Elizabeth could answer, and even her mother could not object. “You are quite right, Captain,” she said. “There was a small landslip during heavy rains in the year eight. Several fine trees and part of the hill had to be carted away to keep the road to Hatfield open. I have often wished I couldamend the map, but alas, without the correct measurements, I have no doubt but that I should make the error worse. My father only keeps an eleven-yard chain, and I have never been able to find a trustworthy confederate who is prepared to stand around in the mud and help me with it.” She looked up laughingly to see the captain’s expression change from one of intelligent interest to something she could not identify: disapproval perhaps, or even ennui, for he no longer met her gaze and seemed more interested in the wallpaper. She shrugged mentally and was about to address a remark to Mr Bingley when the captain spoke, his voice peremptory. “Come, Bingley, we have trespassed upon the ladies’ hospitality long enough. It is time we were leaving.”
Jane and Elizabeth protested, but Mr Bingley turned to go obediently. As they walked into the hall, they heard running feet and turned to see the housekeeper. “Oh, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, your mother says you must come at once. Mr Bennet has taken a turn.”
It was not the worst, but it so easily could have been. The heart-breaking cough that convulsed his entire frame seemed to take an age to respond to Doctor Wallace’s medicine, and it was very late before Mr Bennet sank into an uneasy doze.
The whole house slept uneasily that night, and the next day Mr Bennet sent for Elizabeth. He was sitting up on his usual chaise longue, his legs covered with a blanket. As she bent over to kiss his forehead, she noticed a letter in his hand.
After the usual enquiries and the usual falsely cheerful response, he handed her the letter. “I wrote to my heir, Mr Collins, last week,” he said. “This is his reply.”
It was a strange letter and one that left Elizabeth feeling more than somewhat uneasy. “What can he mean by apologising for the entail?” she said. “And what is this about making amends?”
Mr Bennet stifled another cough. “He is not, it seems, a sensible man. However, I believe he may be coming here, at leastin part, to seek a wife from amongst my daughters.” He laid a hand on hers. “I deeply regret this, dearest, but unless he is the merest brute, it might well be for the best if one of you were to accept him.”
“Oh, sir, surely it cannot be so very urgent?”
Her father shook his head. “Who can say? I may have months before me or merely days. However, as I have criminally done so little to provide for your mother and sisters, it seems that the burden will fall upon you.”
He sighed, which set him coughing again, and it was not until he had control of his breath once more that he continued. “We both know the younger girls will not do and that Jane has not the strength of mind to manage a foolish husband. It is not what I wanted for you, dear girl, and I know you will find it almost intolerably difficult to do, but unless some other prospect for you or Jane arises, I do not see that there is any choice—not if I am to leave you all without fearing for your very existence.” He dropped his gaze but not before Elizabeth saw the tears in his eyes. “I am so very sorry, Lizzy. You all, but you and Jane in particular, deserve better.”
Elizabeth took one of his hands in hers. How pale and thin it had become! “Do not be afraid. If I can provide for my mother and sisters by marrying this man, I shall. Who knows, he may be better than his letter promises. He would not be the first gentleman who failed to make the best of himself in correspondence.” Mr Bennet could not speak and had to content himself with patting her hand gently. She sat with him until he fell asleep.
There was no point in mentioning any of this to her mother or sisters, not until it should prove absolutely necessary. In the meantime, there was the annual invitation to dinner to celebrate the anniversary of Mr and Mrs Goulding’s marriage, and since Mr Bingley and his party were expected to be there, it was vitalthat Jane appear her best. Having ‘used up’ the blue muslin, she must bring out the pink silk their aunt Gardiner had sent from London, saved for just such a formal occasion and extremely becoming.
However, even the simple business of obtaining new ribbons to set off the dress and Jane to perfection brought an unwelcome reminder of their situation. Mrs Finch, the dressmaker, hummed and hawed but ended by asking to be paid in cash rather than sending in her bill at the end of the month. Lydia was shrilly indignant as the sisters rummaged through their reticules for pennies and sixpences, but Elizabeth was more sympathetic, realising the woman was afraid that, if Mr Bennet died, outstanding accounts would be delayed or perhaps not paid at all—a major blow to a widow in such a small way of business.
Luckily, Lydia and Kitty were swept up into preparations the moment they returned to Longbourn, and Elizabeth had the melancholy satisfaction of hiding from Jane that she had spent the last of her own pin money buying the ribbons. They had both been trying to exercise the strictest economy, but even so, both had managed to save little more than half the cost of the mourning clothes they might be obliged to wear all too soon.
Dinner at the Gouldings’ the following day served to brighten all their spirits. Jane looked beautiful, and Mr Bingley was obviously, but never offensively, attentive. Miss Bingley and the Hursts also came and distinguished themselves by ill manners, haughtiness, and in Mr Hurst’s case, excessive attention to Mr Goulding’s excellent port.
Elizabeth found herself beside Miss Bingley after the ladies retired and, for want of any suitable subject of conversation, asked after the whereabouts of Captain Darcy, who was absent although she knew he had been invited.
Miss Bingley coloured, looked conscious, and then said, “He is visiting his brother in Derbyshire. The captain is one of the Darcys of Pemberley in Derbyshire, you know.”
Having no idea what this portentous announcement signified, Elizabeth merely bowed and started a conversation on the state of the roads, the number of footpads said to be abroad, and the weather. Miss Bingley seemed disinclined to bear her share of the conversation and eventually drifted off to speak to her sister.
Left at a loose end, Elizabeth wandered into Mr Goulding’s library, where she knew there would be a county gazetteer, and looked up Pemberley. To her surprise, she found it was close to the small town of Lambton, where her aunt Gardiner had spent much of her early life. She read the details of the impressive house and estate. The current owner, George Arthur Darcy, must be the brother Miss Bingley had mentioned.
She heard the unmistakable sound of Mary playing the piano in the drawing room and returned to find the company joined in an energetic jig. Young Mr Goulding had obviously forestalled any other invitation for Jane, for the two of them were now crossing hands at the top of the set. Mrs Bennet was scowling in a corner but Elizabeth fancied it would do no harm for Mr Bingley to realise he was not the only gentleman with eyes for Jane.
As she sat beside her mother, Elizabeth found her thoughts turning to her father’s heir, Mr Collins. His letter had been notably ill-written, combining sycophancy with an imperfectly hidden and most improper eagerness to take up possession. Mrs Bennet was complaining about something, but Elizabeth could hardly hear her, her mind insisting upon repeating some of the more infelicitous phrases from Mr Collins’s letter over and over again. This was the man her father thought she must marry, and what little she knew of him was no inducement to respect—stillless to the more tender feelings she had always hoped to offer her husband.
CHAPTER THREE
If the Gouldings’ dinner had not settled the matter to Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction, a letter came three days later that quickly convinced her that their troubles were over. Miss Bingley wrote to invite Jane for luncheon and tea. Contriving to the height of her powers, Mrs Bennet arranged for Jane to go on horseback, confident that the weather would break and strand her daughter in the same house as Mr Bingley.
Sure enough, Jane had been gone less than an hour when the heavens opened in a brief but drenching rain shower. Sometime later, a letter was brought announcing that Jane had been caught in it and was now unwell. “People do not die of trifling colds,” said Mrs Bennet confidently, only to recollect and add, “Young people, at any rate.” She called for the housekeeper. “Hill! Hill! We must send over Miss Elizabeth’s new nightgown and slippers, for they are much nicer than Miss Jane’s, and it would not do for the house to think us all paupers.” She paused as though waiting for Elizabeth to object to this summary appropriation of her birthday present, but when no objection came, she continued to Elizabeth’s horror, “Perhaps, Mr Bingley will visit her—now, it is no use you looking like that, Lizzy. Youdo not know what gentlemen are, and if he can only be induced to compromise her, we shall all be safe.”
This was quite enough to decide Elizabeth that she must visit Jane as soon as possible. The very next day she set off across the fields and lanes, clambering over stiles and leaping over puddles, determined to arrive as soon as possible, no matter the jeopardy to her shoes and stockings.
There was no doubt that Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were, or pretended to be, much shocked at her arrival in this manner. However, Mr Bingley was all that was welcoming and quickly ordered a maid to take her up to Jane’s room. It was soon evident that Jane was really unwell, and with her father’s health so much in the foremost of her mind, Elizabeth was happy to agree to Mr Bingley’s suggestion that the apothecary be sent for.
Jane grew more feverish and uncomfortable as the hours passed, and it was only when Mr Johns arrived and reassured them all that it was merely a bad cold that Elizabeth felt she could leave her sister. It was by then too late for her to return to Longbourn, so she readily accepted the invitation to dine and stay the night.
It was obvious that Mr Bingley was truly concerned and that Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst merely pretended to be. When Elizabeth eventually left Jane to go and dine, she overheard those ladies engaged in abusing their acquaintance. When they had exhausted that entertainment, they both moved to wondering what could have kept Captain Darcy, who had been expected back that day, and wishing he were there already. Remembering the gazetteer, Elizabeth realised that, for a lady in Miss Bingley’s position, Captain Darcy, a wealthy member of a much-lauded profession with an independent fortune and aristocratic connexions, was a prize well worth bestowing her twenty thousand pounds on.
She wondered whether the captain had any views on the subject, or even whether he was to be allowed any. Miss Bingley would doubtless scorn Mrs Bennet for her matchmaking, but in ambition and cast of mind, there was little to choose between them.
