Chapter 9
“Wickham is the handsomest officer in the regiment,” declared Lydia Bennet with a sigh of great admiration, propping her head on her elbows at the parlour table where she sat among a medley of bonnets and trimmings. “All the girls in Meryton are swooning over him.”
Together at the window seat, sharing the reading of a long letter from Mr and Mrs Gardiner in London, Elizabeth and Jane smiled at one another with the tolerant indulgence of elder sisters for younger.
“He is handsome, but I like Denny and Sanderson too,” Kitty agreed, sitting beside Lydia and snatching a snippet of blue silk from Lydia’s pile while her sister’s attention was distracted.
“Denny and Sanderson are both very amusing, as is Carter, but none are so handsome as Wickham. Don’t you think so, Mother?” Lydia enquired, looking across to Mrs Bennet on the sofa.
Her mother looked up from where she lounged in a ribboned cap and lacy shawl, reading a London fashion magazine sent by Mrs Gardiner.
“Ah, they are all fine young men who look very well in their uniforms,” Mrs Bennet replied with a misty-eyed smile.
“I loved a red coat when I was a girl, and they always turn my eye even still. How colourful the regiment makes the Meryton Assembly too! What a good thing for the district to have them here.”
“Denny dances almost as well as Lord Keeble,” Kitty spoke up.
“Yes, he does, although Wickham has more amusing conversation,” responded Lydia critically, as though it was a matter of great weight. “Wickham is taller too, by at least three inches.”
“Wickham is older, and Denny may still grow,” Kitty said defensively, but her sister only snorted in derision.
From the armchair by the fireplace, Mr Bennet gave a loud groan.
“Can this family talk of nothing but officers and red coats?” he complained.
“I feel I have heard nothing else for a fortnight. Wickham this, and Denny that, dancing at the Meryton Assembly and officers in the Longbourn drawing room every time I want a quiet teatime. Surely, you will eventually reach the end of all it is possible to say of the regiment.”
“I am not interested in the regiment, Father,” Mary assured him with great self-satisfaction. “I see nothing of virtue or value inherent in a red coat. These are but worldly signs of —”
“That is because you are so determined to be dull, Mary,” Lydia cut across her, drawing a nod of agreement from Mrs Bennet and disapproving looks from her oldest two sisters.
“You might bury yourself alive in Fordyce’s Sermons and like it, but I was dreadfully bored after Lord Keeble left.
There were no decent dancing partners at the assembly again until the regiment came. ”
“A whole fortnight without decent dancing partners,” said her father with mock sympathy.
“I cannot think how you survived it, Lydia. It is not as though we have a district bursting with young male Lucases, Prenterfords and Moretons, never mind cheerful young Mr Bingley over at Netherfield Park and his admittedly gloomy but rich friend, Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy?” exclaimed Kitty, pulling a face at the idea of dancing with these gentlemen.
“Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are both old fuddy-duddies,” put in Lydia with her usual lack of self-restraint.
“You ought not to be so rude about our neighbours,” Jane reprimanded her younger sisters with unusual warmth. “Mr Bingley has been nothing but civil and kind to any of us, and Mr Darcy is his guest. We should show them both our respect.”
“When you speak so uncivilly at home, it makes me fear for what you might say in company,” Elizabeth added, thinking to herself with exasperation that she and Jane were stepping into the role Mr and Mrs Bennet ought to have played with their younger girls but never did.
“You must guard your tongue better, Lydia, and you too, Kitty.”
“Oh, I only meant that they are so old,” Lydia grumbled, never liking to be taken to task. “They’re at least as old as you and Jane and probably older.”
“Well, then, that makes Mr Wickham old too,” Elizabeth pointed out. “He is the same age as Mr Darcy. Mr Bingley is actually a few years younger. Your excuse does not stand up in logical terms any more than moral ones, Lydia.”
She glanced to her parents, hoping for at least a nod of support. Mr Bennet, however, had already returned to the book laying on his lap. Mrs Bennet looked on Elizabeth with an unusually benign expression and smiled.
“I cannot be cross with Lydia and Kitty for enjoying the company of the officers, just as I do myself. Still, it warms my heart to hear you speak in defence of that nice Mr Bingley, Elizabeth. You even know how old he is!” And their mother gave an annoying little chuckle, as though she had uncovered some great secret.
“I know the ages of all the residents of Netherfield Park,” Elizabeth said, doing her best to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Charlotte Lucas told me, and she is usually well-informed on such matters.”
“Why do not you and Jane take a walk across to Netherfield Park, Lizzy? You can deliver a supper invitation for Mr Bingley and his sisters… and for Mr Darcy too, if he happens to still be there, of course.”
These last words were added grudgingly. Mrs Bennet had not yet forgiven Mr Darcy for his lack of enthusiasm or manners on learning of Jane’s engagement. It was possibly the only matter on which Elizabeth and her mother presently agreed.
At their mother’s suggestion, Jane seemed to draw in on herself, tightening the wrap around her shoulders and frowning.
Elizabeth had the impression that her sister did not wish to go to Netherfield Park, and this was a feeling she shared.
She supposed Jane was tired; Jane seemed to have been tired a great deal recently, and rather listless, too.
“Mother, you must get Hill to send a messenger,” Elizabeth replied shortly. “Jane and I are going to write back to Aunt Gardiner when we are finished reading this letter.”
“Mr Bingley will be so much more likely to accept if the invitation is delivered personally, I am sure, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet insisted with an immovable smile that told her daughters she would not yield. “You shall tell him that any evening next week will be convenient.”
How pale Jane looked when Elizabeth glanced at her! Did no one else notice? She hoped her sister was not sickening for anything serious. At any rate, their mother ought to know better than to send Jane out on a long walk when she was not well.
“Oh, very well, but I shall go alone,” Elizabeth therefore answered, getting to her feet and leaving Jane the window seat. “Jane may start our letter without me.”
“No, no, no,” Mrs Bennet continued to fuss. “That would not be quite proper at all, given your possibility of hopes towards Mr Bingley.”
“I have no such hopes,” Elizabeth said in exasperation. “And in any case, if Mr Bingley’s sisters were not there, I should hardly stay long after delivering your message.”
“No, it would not look well, Lizzy dear,” persisted Mrs Bennet. “Jane must go with you.”
“I shall take Mary,” announced Elizabeth, looking to her middle sister, who showed almost as little enthusiasm for the walk as Jane. “She is not tired, are you, Mary?”
“I was going to practice my concerto on the pianoforte for an hour or two,” Mary objected, and for a few moments, Mrs Bennet seemed to waver, having already been subjected to several hours of pianoforte practice that day, and tempted by the prospect of avoiding more.
“Do not worry, Mary,” Jane spoke up softly, rising to her feet and coming to Elizabeth’s side. “I shall go with Lizzy. I have been feeling tired, but the fresh air will revive me…. A brief call at Netherfield Park can do no real harm.”
These last words were murmured almost to herself, and there was an odd note in her voice that made Elizabeth wonder what she meant by them.
Was Jane conceding a deeper concern for her own health?
Reassuring Elizabeth that their mother’s meddling need not make their call embarrassing? Or something else?
Ah, what if Jane did realise Mr Bingley’s feelings for her and had wished to spare him the pain of seeing her? Such selflessness would be typical of her sister.
“We shall enjoy our walk and make the call as short as we can,” Elizabeth whispered to Jane in reassurance as they left the room. “It is not as though Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst have gone out of their way to seek our company, is it?”
“No,” Jane agreed, and then repeated some form of her earlier words again. “A brief call can do no harm.”
∞∞∞
“Look! I was right,” Elizabeth said excitedly as they walked up the drive towards the pleasant prospect of Netherfield Park. “The shutters are down on all the upper windows already. I believe the household is going away somewhere.”
Jane nodded, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, she saw that her sister’s hand was trembling and her eyes unhappy in her wan face. She must have truly steeled herself to come over here, and the nervous strain was now telling, Elizabeth supposed.
“Perhaps they are taking a holiday?” Jane suggested. “They might be already gone and there will be no point in calling…”
“Well, we shall ask the servants where Mr Bingley and his party have gone. Mother will ask us, and I must have some news to tell Charlotte, since she tells me so much. I only hope they have not left Mr Darcy here alone. That would be quite insupportable!”
Her curiosity outweighing Jane’s mild reluctance, Elizabeth marched her sister up the stone steps to the front door of Netherfield Park.
The usual black-coated butler opened the door and greeted them in respectful terms, but then, before Elizabeth could enquire after the household, Miss Caroline Bingley came tripping across the hallway, already wearing a fine blue travelling coat and matching hat in the latest style.