Chapter 22 Mrs Bennet Comes to Call
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MRS BENNET COMES TO CALL
It was with considerable horror that Elizabeth received her mother at Rosings House one warm afternoon in the middle of May.
Happily, Lady Catherine and Anne were both in their bedchambers where they customarily spent the hours between two and four in the afternoons.
She prayed they would not alter their custom today, for her mother was in high dudgeon.
She could readily perceive it in the flush of her cheeks and the slight trembling of her hands.
“This is a surprise, Mama,” she said, taking her into the parlour which overlooked the square.
“This is a very handsome room,” Mrs Bennet pronounced, looking over it critically. “The windows! One cannot even imagine what such windows must have cost.”
Elizabeth winced, grateful no one was in the room to hear the coarse remark. “If I happen upon the tax bill, I will be sure to tell you about it.”
“Oh, Lizzy.” Her mother gave her a scolding look. “You may save your sharp tongue for another day, for we are all in an uproar, your sisters and I.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, praying Mrs Bennet was not about to tell her that Lydia or Kitty or both had run off with some redcoat or another. “Allow me to ring for tea.”
Mrs Bennet managed to repress indignation until the tea arrived.
Elizabeth watched her closely as she set about the business of pouring for her mother, adding the enormous amounts of cream and sugar that her mama had always required.
When she received it, Mrs Bennet drained the cup dry and handed it back to Elizabeth for another.
“What is it, Mama?”
“It is Jane.”
“Jane?” Elizabeth handed her mother the second cup. She had had a letter from Jane just that morning and, while short, she had not mentioned any distress. “What about Jane?”
“About a week ago, your sisters and I were invited to call in Grosvenor Square to wait upon Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst,” said Mrs Bennet. “Is there a biscuit about? I cannot drink tea without some sort of something to nibble at.”
With a sigh, Elizabeth stood, rang the bell again, and requested biscuits from the housekeeper. While they awaited the arrival of the biscuits, Mrs Bennet continued her tale.
“I will tell you right now, Lizzy, those Hursts behave like a great deal more than they actually are. The house was fine enough, though it does seem a bit shabby in places, but most certainly one of the smaller addresses. One could walk right by it and never know it was there! This—” Mrs Bennet made a circle in the air with her hand.
“—this is far, far more grand! I should like to see those sisters of his come and see all of this!”
Being that none of it belonged to her, Elizabeth could not see that it mattered, but she only smiled and urged her mother onwards. “Was the call a pleasant one?”
“Those ladies, for all their airs and supposed education, really do not know how to carry a conversation,” Mrs Bennet informed her.
“I had to do all of the talking, and that Mr Hurst fellow just lay on a couch and snored! Abominably rude! I never in my life saw anything like it! We did not stay long—never let it be said that my manners are lacking—but there was not one subject introduced that I did not introduce myself.”
“How dreadful.”
Mrs Bennet nodded. “But it was not the visit itself that brought your sister such misery. After we had departed, I had the driver circle back round, for I had left my parasol in the front hall.”
“Your parasol!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Why would you bring a parasol in for a morning call?”
“So that I might leave it behind,” said Mrs Bennet impatiently. “Goodness, Lizzy, it is like you believe these things just happen on their own! I also left a fan behind, hoping Mr Bingley might feel obliged to come down to the City and return it to me.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes a moment. “And did he?”
“Not yet, but that is not my point. My point is what happened when I sent your sister in to get my parasol. Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were speaking in the hall above—”
“Mr Darcy was present too?”
“Barely,” said her mother with disgust. “Silent as a monk, that one. Never one to feel he has to exert himself in company he thinks below him. But he had plenty to say once we left and no notion that Jane had returned and was below in the hall, listening.”
Oh, no, Elizabeth thought. “Those who eavesdrop rarely like what they hear.”
Mrs Bennet nodded. “And so she did not. A life buoy! He insulted your father, you know—criticised him for failing us so. As if he knows what is what!”
Elizabeth thought anyone who saw the reduction in their circumstances likely had a pretty good idea of what was what, but she did not say so. Her mother was quick enough to abuse their father’s memory, but woe to any other person who might try it.
“Then he believes Jane is only interested in his friend for his money?”
“Just so. As if he knows our Jane! She just turned down Mr Patterson, and he might not be a gentleman, but his income is twenty-five hundred a year, and he is doing very well at his firm. What does this Darcy fellow think about that!”
“Mr Patterson? Jane did not mention a Mr Patterson to me.”
“A banker,” said Mrs Bennet. “He is a bit on the older side, perhaps close to forty, but who cares about that? I am thinking he might like Lydia.”
“Lydia! Lydia is fifteen, Mama, and you would have her married to a forty-year-old?”
“Lydia is nearly sixteen,” her mother informed her. “In case you have forgotten. And Mr Patterson is very youthful, when he removes his spectacles.”
A bespectacled older man. “He sounds as if he would be better suited to you, Mama, than Lydia.”
“Do you think?” Mrs Bennet preened in a manner that made Elizabeth know that she had already considered it. Elizabeth’s teasing had never been more ill-timed; she had forgotten about her aunt Philips’s encouragement to her mother to marry again.
“I am only teasing, Mama. Surely you must enjoy your independence too much to want to—”
“Independence! Just another word for loneliness if you ask me, and I have no intention of living out my days in such a place where we are!”
Elizabeth tried not to sigh. She supposed she must understand her mother’s sentiments even if it was positively unimaginable to her. “But Mr Bingley’s sister, and his friend—they do not know Jane. And fie on the lot of them, for Mr Bingley could not find a sweeter, more lovely wife than my sister.”
“Just so,” said Mrs Bennet.
“Maybe Mr Bingley will ignore their advice,” Elizabeth suggested hopefully. “Perhaps he has seen Jane’s affection for him and—”
Mrs Bennet pressed her lips together firmly, but they trembled visibly regardless. “We will see. I am sure I cannot imagine what might happen, but Jane is as downcast as I ever have seen her. And I will assure you that those dreadful sisters of his will keep my fan for themselves!”
Half an hour later, Elizabeth had done all she could to soothe her mother’s injured spirits. She did not think Mrs Bennet was happier, but she was at least resolved to find someone else for Jane.
Once her mother was tucked safely into the Gardiners’ carriage and on her way back to the City, her own fury swelled within her.
Should she ever see this Mr Darcy, or Mr D, or whomever he was, he would certainly have a piece of her mind for his meddlesome ways.
Jane was not mercenary, and she did not deserve to be treated as if she was.