Chapter 1 #2
“In fact”—Mrs Cuthbert put down her teacup, and both Elizabeth and Jane braced themselves—“Lydia can join you when you take the children sea-bathing. With Eliza back where she belongs, she and her mother can help Mrs Collins when her time comes.” Mrs Cuthbert gave her an expressive look.
“You know your duty to your family, do you not?”
“I would do nothing inconsistent to my duty I owe my family.”
Jane gave Elizabeth an apologetic smile. “I will write to my mother and extend an invitation to Lydia to join us at South End in September. Dear Lizzy, you know I shall miss you, but are you looking forward to returning to Longbourn?”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened but the stab did not build into the sharp pain that she kept hidden from everyone. She put on her polite smile and pronounced that she had no dread of the months she would spend at Longbourn.
She set out from Gracechurch Street for the town nearest to Meryton, being transported like a parcel in the Cuthberts’ carriage to where Mr Collins’s carriage would meet her to convey her the rest of the way.
Once upon a time, her sisters might have met her at the inn for a lively dinner, but Kitty was now in Portsmouth with Captain Redmond, and Lydia rarely acted on any fleeting considerate thought without encouragement.
Her reception at home was as she expected: Mary was sombre, Mr Collins used three words when one would do, Mrs Bennet asked about her grandsons’ health, and Lydia talked in a voice louder than any other person’s about herself.
“I must write directly to Mr Cuthbert,” Mr Collins said as they later sat at table, “and thank him for his hospitality in keeping you for so long. I know you were of use to your sister whilst she was lying-in, but to keep you six months, all the way until Easter, without asking for a shilling from me, is the utmost in generosity.”
Elizabeth could not stand to listen to her cousin’s speeches, but she was dependent upon Mr Collins’s kindness and had to be polite to her sister’s husband.
He had studied to enter the church, but the death of her father meant Mr Collins never took orders before he inherited Longbourn; and, intending to apologise for being next in the entail, he married one of the Bennet daughters.
Elizabeth had been in town with a pregnant Jane when her father died, and Mr Collins arrived at Longbourn before the eldest daughters returned to Hertfordshire, well after he had already offered to Mary.
Elizabeth had seen the thwarted expression in Mr Collins’s eyes when she first entered the house as he observed the superficial differences between the daughter he had proposed to and the elder, unmarried daughter who came home a week later. She suspected Mary had seen his disappointment also.
“After all,” he went on, “since your father’s death, you were exposed to a sudden and irreversible fall in fortune. I will add a few lines to my letter expressing your own overwhelming gratitude for his consideration.”
“It may not be an irreversible situation. I hope I may be as fortunate as Mary in my own time.” Elizabeth smiled at her sister and avoided making eye contact with her cousin.
“Being well-settled is what women should aim at,” Mary replied gravely, “and is the only way you have of being of use and raising yourself in the world.”
“That is not true,” Lydia cried. “Lizzy is always useful when Jane has a baby.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed. “I won’t die an old maid, and I promise when I am married, I will chaperon you to all the balls!”
Elizabeth felt the first twinges of another paroxysm around her heart, and wondered if it would be a brief tightening and palpitations, or a full attack of pain like she had felt yesterday.
“Thank you, Lydia. Mamma, have you had many letters from my aunt Gardiner since I have been away? I received only two since the new year.”
“No, it has been above a month. My brother is likely murdered by natives, and my sister and the children, too!”
“Mamma! He is in Canada meeting with merchants who carry trade in partnership with fur traders.” As a linen merchant, Mr Gardiner wished to expand his province. “He is not in any danger.”
“It is a disreputable scheme!”
How she wished for Jane in moments like this to help her mother see reason.
“It is perfectly respectable. He is meeting with the North-West Company in Fort William this summer, and my aunt and the children will remain in Montreal. The North-West Company has secured an extensive fur trade, and you know how my uncle wishes to carry furs along with his assortment of linen goods. I think the venture a fascin—”
“They will all die of some dreadful colonial disease. Who wants furs anyway?”
“Any woman visiting the London shops wants furs. Our uncle’s business might appeal to more wholesalers if he can supply furs as well as linens, calicos, and muslins.”
“My brother is secluded from all society as he travels farther west, and my sister Gardiner is little better in Montreal! It takes above half a year for her letters to arrive.”
“A letter takes four weeks to travel from Montreal to Longbourn, Mamma. It is April; you could write to my aunt and have her reply to your news before July.”
“La, you are all dull!” Lydia cried.
She went on about dress and officers while encouraged by her mother, and Elizabeth had to pretend she was interested.
Mary interrupted to say that such things had no charms for her, and her husband interrupted as often as possible to say nothing of note.
The conversation then moved on to every article of news that happened since October within a five-mile radius of Longbourn House.
Gossip fatigued Elizabeth as it never did before when Longbourn had been her proper home.
She felt too much a stranger in the neighbourhood to care about what houses were let and who lost their servant and who had another baby.
Still, Elizabeth tried to do as she ought and show enough interest to satisfy her mother.
“Is Netherfield House let yet? It has been empty two years.”
“No, we will never have a proper family settled there!” her mother cried. “The only newcomer to the neighbourhood is that man who rents the lodge at Netherfield. I have only laid eyes on him a few times outside of church, but we all know a dishonourable man when we see one.”
“How do you know he is dishonourable if you have never spoken to him?”
“Your mother is entirely right,” said Mr Collins. “He has a disreputable character. I cannot neglect my duty as head of this household, and I therefore insist you to draw back from any acquaintance with this man.”
Mr Collins loved nothing more than to remind her that he owned Longbourn and she was dependent upon him. Ignoring him, she said to her mother, “You cannot leave me in suspense. What has the man done, Mamma?”
“Sir William Lucas called on him, and I understand he returned the call as a matter of course, but he hosts no parties and goes nowhere! He says nothing of where he is from or who his people are. He attended three evening parties in six months, but other than that, we only ever see him at church where he speaks to no one!”
Elizabeth laughed. “How dare he!”
“Mr Collins called on him, and when he returned the call, he declined my—Mary’s invitation to dine!”
Mary gave her mother a disapproving look.
“That is the least of his defects. His true faults are of a moral nature. It is universally acknowledged that he keeps a woman at the lodge with him as his mistress. Sir William always tries to draw him out, but it is shocking, and this family is fortunate that we do not dine with him.”
“I heartily agree, my dear Mary,” said her husband “Although I did not see the lady when I called, the gentleman told me the woman who resides with him is his sister. Far be it from me to assume anything ungentlemanly about a man who claims to be a fellow Christian, but as she is not seen in public, not even at church, nor does she do the compliments of his table, we must assume she is his mistress and he is ashamed of the sinful nature of their relationship, and therefore keeps her hidden.”
Mrs Bennet leant forward and dropped her voice. “Sir William said he heard from his housekeeper, whose sister helps with the washing at Netherfield Lodge once a week, that she is an invalid, and that is why she is not seen in the neighbourhood.”
“Then it is possible this man is truly overseeing the care of a sick sister.”
Elizabeth’s four companions drew back and shook their heads at her apparent ignorance and stupidity. Her mother’s eyes lit up as she shared more salacious news. “Mr Jones is known to call frequently at Netherfield Lodge.”
“The apothecary visiting is a natural consequence of tending to an invalid,” Elizabeth said.
“His partner in the apothecary shop in Meryton has a cousin whose son is a footman of the Gouldings at Haye Park, and he told the coachman who told Hill that the woman there has been seen embracing the man! And she is very young. He is living with a woman who has lost her virtue!”
“And worse, he rents the gatehouse!” Lydia rolled her eyes. “They say he only has a few servants and does not keep a carriage. I doubt he has five hundred a year.”
Elizabeth attempted to share a look with anyone at the table about this ridiculousness, but of course, in this she was entirely alone.
She managed to catch Mary’s attention and said, “It sounds to me that you have little information about this man, yet you are determined to think the worst of him based on his unsocial nature and rumours spread by servants.”
“There is countless talk of a scandal that surrounds the inhabitants of Netherfield’s lodge,” Mary intoned, “and, of course, we know there is a woman he hides there. You will do well to stay far away from Mr Darcy.”