CHAPTER 25 #3
“My dear Miss Bennet,” cried Mrs. Westbrook, “you must forgive this intrusion. We were in the neighbourhood and could not resist calling to thank you again for Tuesday evening. Your playing delighted us all. My daughter has spoken of little else.”
“How kind of Miss Westbrook,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Clark bowed. “We were all under obligation, Miss Bennet.”
Pom-Pom growled.
Mr. Clark’s eye fell upon him.
To his credit, he did not start. To his discredit, he almost did.
“And who is this?” he asked, with the careful brightness of a man addressing an unexpected object of uncertain classification.
Elizabeth looked down. “A dog, as you see. Lord Pomington.”
“Lord—?”
“Pomington.”
Pom-Pom continued to regard him with the settled contempt of a small creature who had suffered exclusion and knew the world deserved punishment.
Mrs. Westbrook smiled as if she had encountered a family custom too old to contradict and too strange to admire.
“How singular,” she said.
“Very,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Doddridge, seated near the window, inclined her head to the visitors and returned to her sewing. Her presence rendered everything respectable. Her silence rendered everything worse.
Tea was brought.
Elizabeth did not order cake. She did not order preserved fruit, sandwiches, warm rolls, or any of the small attentions by which Portman Square usually expressed interest in a guest’s continued survival.
She gave them ordinary tea and very plain biscuits.
The biscuits looked honest, dry, and unlikely to encourage attachment.
Mrs. Westbrook, who did not know herself under punishment, praised the room, the fire, the weather’s improvement, and Miss Westbrook’s admiration.
Mr. Clark praised Elizabeth’s playing again.
He said taste twice, expression once, and delicacy in a tone which made Elizabeth think the word had done nothing to deserve him.
“I hope you were not fatigued by the exertion,” he added.
“Not at all.”
“Music may be very trying to the nerves.”
“I have never found it so.”
“No? Perhaps you are unusually strong.”
“Perhaps the music was.”
He smiled as if she had been modest again.
Mrs. Westbrook looked between them with a satisfaction Elizabeth disliked more than any open offence. It was the satisfaction of a woman seeing furniture where she had meant furniture to stand.
“And have you many engagements, Miss Bennet?” she asked. “I hope Tuesday did not quite exhaust you.”
“My engagements are moderate.”
“You must not let London overwhelm you. Young ladies sometimes fancy themselves equal to every exertion.”
“I am learning to be selective.”
“That is very wise. A little company, a little music, a few agreeable friends — that is the proper way.”
“And business,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Westbrook blinked. “Business?”
“Yes.”
“What a very serious word for so young a lady.”
“It grows less serious by acquaintance.”
Mr. Clark smiled. “Ladies have a charming way of making occupations for themselves.”
Elizabeth looked at him.
Pom-Pom made a low sound in his throat.
“Hush,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Clark is being civil.”
Mr. Clark’s smile became less certain.
Mrs. Westbrook laughed lightly. “You are very industrious, Miss Bennet. I confess, I never know what business a young woman of your age can have.”
“Quite a lot,” said Elizabeth.
There was a pause.
It was not long enough to be rude, only long enough to be felt.
Mrs. Westbrook recovered. “How admirable. Though I dare say, when you are settled, some gentleman will be very happy to take all such trouble from you.”
Elizabeth’s smile did not alter.
“That would depend, I suppose, upon whether the gentleman understood the trouble.”
Mr. Clark straightened a little, as if understanding trouble were a quality he might be willing to acquire in public.
“My father has always held,” he said, “that ladies ought not to be burdened with leases and accounts, except so far as household comfort requires.”
“Does he?” said Elizabeth. “Then I hope his tenants are very comfortable.”
Mrs. Doddridge bent her head over her sewing. It was impossible to say whether she hid a smile, for Mrs. Doddridge’s face had been constructed to defeat inquiry.
Mrs. Westbrook looked a little less pleased.
The clock struck the quarter before four.
Elizabeth heard it with such relief that she nearly disliked herself.
Mrs. Westbrook continued for a few minutes more, but the room had altered.
Pom-Pom had refused to settle. Mr. Clark had discovered that Lord Pomington was not a subject upon which he could be amusing.
Mrs. Westbrook had begun to understand that Miss Bennet’s independence was not a charming irregularity waiting to be smoothed by the right family. It was structural.
At precisely four o’clock, the footman entered.
“Mr. Darcy, miss.”
Elizabeth rose with more relief than she intended.
“Yes. Show him in.”
Mrs. Westbrook glanced from Elizabeth to the door, then to the papers already arranged upon the side table.
“Another visitor?”
“An appointment,” said Elizabeth. “Upon business.”
“Business again,” said Mrs. Westbrook, with a smile that made the word smaller than it was.
“Still,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy entered.